


A Collection of NPC Pairings

by Duskynoir



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 130,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskynoir/pseuds/Duskynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.</p><p>Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afterhours (Ancano/Mirabelle)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to an entire bloody series of junk I've written for the Skyrim Kink Meme because Any/Any prompts are fair game for literally Any/Any and I will damn well do ANY/ANY. Set your eyes to bleed, dovahkiins.
> 
>  
> 
> We begin with 'Afterhours', a fill I asked to be deleted from the meme due to the original prompter not enjoying it. I am the dubcon queen, apparently, and Mirabelle Ervine and Ancano - a complete crackship - are the stars of such a tag. The original prompt asked for basic shenanigans between a pairing in the College of Winterhold on the Arch-Mage's Bed.
> 
> Additional Tags/Warnings: Unrealistic Sex, Hatesex, Thalmor Sex, Rough Fucking, and Mirabelle taking it like a Champ.

She really still didn’t know how it had come to this. One minute she had been yelling at Ancano for interrupting the students, the next she was pinned against a wall and kissing him as if they were long-time lovers. She apologized after, embarrassed and ashamed, eventually avoiding him at all costs when she could but he came to her again when she was alone. He acted like it never happened and for a moment she was relieved. He then provoked her into a shouting match which ended with her on his bed.

That was two weeks ago. Now, as she looked down at the fine woven blankets before her eyes, her nails gripping it for a second to feel the threads, he was harshly pushing into her making her tense, her legs shaking. He said nothing but he touched her back, rubbing which caused her to pant.

They hated each other. There was no other words to describe it. He was a Thalmor Agent who manipulated his way into the college to spy and stir up trouble. She was just trying to keep the damn college running while the Arch-Mage spent more of his time lost in books and tomes, his laid back attitude and avoidance of confrontation keeping her busy between her actual job and dealing with the faculty.

She hated his damn attitude towards them, how he considered himself superior and his tongue wove venomous sarcasm towards all authority. He detested her, calling her a bitch and an idiot on more than on occasion. And yet here she was, yet again, gripping the blankets of a bed she should not be near with him behind her doing what he really, in all good conscience, should not be doing. Everything that they were doing was wrong.

He pressed in more and her mind went blank for a second, her back arching and her legs spreading. “A…An-n-cano!”

His hand came over her mouth and she bit down on his glove, her hands gripping the blankets tight, her head becoming light. He kissed the top of her ear and pushed in until she collapsed forward, her forearms hitting the sheets below.

Julianos have mercy on her. They shouldn’t be doing this, really. Not on Savos’ bed, not in the college, not anywhere. If she had any sense she would stop him and blast a fire spell in his face but one look over her shoulder at him made her bite her lip.

His golden eyes moved down catching hers and he leaned over, kissing her neck, his hand still over her mouth. “Relax,” he said and she found herself flushing. She hung her head down again, closing her eyes as she gripped the expensive linens below herself and he started to thrust into her, slow at first until she bucked back. She hated that. Slow love-making was not how she wanted them to do this and he got the hint, grabbing her hips to control her as he started to thrust harder, his cock making her insides ache.

She had to finally put her knees on the bed, letting him take her as if she was some sort of animal. It was degrading. She started to whimper, his hand no longer covering her mouth and she bit down on the blanket to silence herself in case someone came. The doors weren’t locked, she knew that, and Savos could come back at any time which started to make her more desperate.

They shouldn’t be doing this. She was the Master Wizard, an esteemed mage of the college. People came to her for guidance and here she was thrusting back eagerly against a Thalmor Agent’s cock on her friend’s bed. What was the matter with her? What in Aetherius would her colleagues say if they ever found out?

She was pushed onto the bed more as he mounted her roughly for a better grip his thrusts nearly brutal but gods be damned it made her moan in pure pleasure. Gods, he was large. She couldn’t even take him in fully despite how much she wanted to and she had to keep shifting as he fucked her, struggling to take his length as the angle he was at was making her stomach hurt.

He dug his nails into her hips making her buck back, hands shaking, and they kept up their shameful act until he grew tired of the position. That’s when her hands were grabbed and she was pulled back, now only on her knees as he held her against himself, his cock throbbing in her which made her moan like a tavern wench.

“Mirabelle,” he growled her name and she panted, starting to lose her mind. He grabbed her chest, squeezing harder than she would have liked but it spurred her on more and she clutched his forearms, silently begging for him. “Mirabelle, I’m getting close.”

She bit her lip, her mind scrambling as she was as well. “S-So am I…”

He kissed the top of her head before thrusting up hard making her arch. Gods it felt like he was fucking her stomach and she twisted letting out a cry. “A-Ancano!”

“What day is it?” he stressed, his control wavering. She whimpered, not understanding and he squeezed her chest harder, his fingers slipping beneath her open robe to grab her directly. “Is it a safe day!? Can I come inside!?”

She could barely think but she tried to concentrate, counting the days. He was starting to get impatient, fucking her harder and she rode him without a thought, her body aching for him. “Y-Yes! Y-You can come inside!” she finally determined and he forced her chin up, awkwardly kissing her from above which made her twist in pain but somehow she didn’t care.

She was already acting like a wanton teenage girl. If anyone came and saw she would have no explanation anyways so she might as well enjoy it. His erratic thrusting was making her knees weak and her insides sore and she forced one of his hands down to at least help her. He got the message and her mind was soon bursting with pleasure.

Gods. Julianos. Mara. Kynareth. Akatosh. She begged for them all to reward her with an end and it came quickly upon her making her shout. He covered her mouth again but she didn’t care. She hit her breaking point, his fingers stroking her slit, his damn cock driving her mad and she felt the stars in her vision, her eyes rolling back and her body falling limp.

She could feel him thrust into her but now it felt foreign, as if she was feeling it from afar these odd sensations of him pounding her body. He held her tight, his fingers digging into her flesh and he came with a hiss, small pants coming out in between before he bit her neck and collapsed letting her fall to the bed with him.

When she finally woke, her head aching and her eyes weary she was not on Savos’ bed. She was instead curled up on a chair, her legs hurting and her back stiff and she whimpered as she started to stand.

A hand came out and touched her and she flinched as she turned to see who was by her side. “S-Savos?!”

“Easy, Mirabelle,” he said making her flush. “It’s alright.”

She stared at him, panic setting in. “W-What happened?! Where am I!?”

“My quarters,” he said as left to grab a cup from the small table he usually sat at. She stared at him, still in a panic, and he pushed it into her hands. “Here, drink some tea. It’s made from the chamomile and berries that grow in southern Whiterun.”

She continued to stare at him, looking around for Ancano but she couldn’t see him. One look down confirmed she was dressed properly and she felt herself pulse making her press her legs together. Did that happen? It must have. Otherwise she wouldn’t have that sick feeling that often came after she took his cock so hard. She gently accepted the tea she was offered and set it down on the end table near her, her eyes sharp as she looked to the Arch-Mage.

Gods help her if he knew. “Savos, what happened? H-How did I get here?”

He frowned at her refusal for tea but straightened with a sigh. “Ancano brought you up. Seems you fainted in the courtyard. A lack of eating he hypothesized.”

Her ears burned. Well, it wasn’t a clever lie but one she could live with. She crossed her legs, mentally controlling herself before she smoothed back her hair. “Yes. I skipped breakfast this morning. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope not,” he replied with a sigh. “Mirabelle, you’re working yourself too hard. You need a break.”

“I’m fine.”

He frowned at her. “Are you? Fainting in the courtyard is worrisome. Thank the gods Ancano found you before you froze,” he said and she flushed deeply, chewing her lip. He noticed and pushed the cup of tea back at her. “Mirabelle, don’t be so bitter to him. He helped you.”

She was up, her knees shaking a bit as she did and she could feel the wetness between her legs indicating that he didn’t clean her up while she was passed out. She grit her teeth, trying not to throb at the thought and she maintained herself well until she looked to Savos. He was giving her one of his worried looks and she smoothed her robes.

“I’m fine. I’ll go thank him and get back to my duties.”

“Mirabelle…”

“Thank you, Savos. For caring,” she said and she looked past him at his bed, a bit of guilt filling her but she pushed it down. She gave him a curt bow and left by the door that led down to the lecture hall.

It was outside that she saw Ancano lingering near the statue and she avoided his gaze as she went to her room, her thighs now sticky. They had to stop. She had to stop. Someone was going to see them or monitor her and her reputation would be ruined if they knew what she had done.

Still, her cheeks flushed when she stole away into the private area of the Hall of Attainment, the cloth she had fetched thick with his come when she wiped between herself. Her body still could feel it and she momentarily touched herself before tossing the cloth in the bucket. No matter the pleasure, it wasn’t worth her being ruined.

\--


	2. All-Time Low (Legate Rikke & Legate Fasendil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to just recycle the same summary over and over, ha ha ha.
> 
> Anyways, prompt for this went as follows:
> 
> This meme needs WAY more Legate Rikke. Pair her up, don't pair her up, whatever. I just need me some Rikke. Maybe old war stories? Maybe her thoughts on the Talos ban since she is, in fact, a Talos worshipper? Maybe a scene of downtime involving her and a couple of the other Legates, chilling and having drinks or something.
> 
>  
> 
> Eyyyy, I always saw her as having a platonic relationship with all the other Legates so I just abused Fasendil because I could and used my feels about the civil war to push that. Eyyy.

“Legate Rikke! Come quick!” she heard a soldier cry making her look up from the map, her eyes narrowing at his tone. Something had to be wrong and she slowly leaned up, waiting for it as a young boy rushed in, his chest heaving. “Our soldiers are back but there’s something wrong! The Legate is hurt!”

“What!?” she snapped, grabbing at her sword immediately out of instinct and she rushed out of the Imperial tent following the frantic soldier as he took off in a run towards the road. She followed behind, not as swift as the light-footed soldier due to her armor but she kept her pace and not long after her boots had hit the stones she met with the sentry of wounded men, the Altmer Legate the hardest hit between them all. 

Their blood was leaving a trail from where they came and she shoved her sword back into its hilt as she rushed to the Legate’s side, her heart beginning to pound. Fasendil wasn’t the strongest out of all the commanders in Skyrim but he was a considerable force and to see him this wounded shocked her. She grabbed his arm and slung it over her shoulder as she helped take on part of his weight, the soldier carrying him looking grateful and she glanced at them all in shock.

“What happened?!” she said almost frantically, her heart pounding as she heard the Legate above her groan and all of the soldiers paused to turn so they faced her, expressions bleak. She frowned and flinched when she felt something hit her arm. It was blood and she looked to her fellow Legate. His temple was bleeding badly and she struggled to rip off some of her shirt, holding it to his head. “What happened here, men? Who did this to you?! Who attacked?”

The soldier helping hold him up with her frowned and there was an uneasy silence which made her steel her nerves. “Soldiers! I am asking you a question! What has happened?”

The second in command let out an uneasy sigh. “We went to the Fort as you commanded, Legate Rikke. But they were there. H-Hundreds of them!”

“Who was?”

“Stormcloaks! That old general who is always with Ulfric, he was there!” one of the other soldiers said, coughing before he could finish and she winced at the sound. “We were outnumbered! They knew we were coming!”

“They got the commander bad,” the second in command spoke, his eyes moving between his soldier and back to her, his grief apparent in his eyes. “It didn’t stop. They choked us out, cut us down. They killed… they killed… W-We were lucky to make it out.”

She didn’t say anything, merely taking in the information before she looked to them all in concern. A handful of them, blood on their uniforms and exhaustion in their eyes and she knew they had been through the planes of oblivion and back. She found herself counting, each one of them not moving before her and a realization came when her eyes fell on the last man.

“Where’s the Dragonborn?” she asked making them all stop their aching fidgeting, a few of them becoming stiff making her stand up straighter, shouldering the Legate as she did. “Where’s Tribune Silfina?” 

None of them spoke and a sinking feeling filled her heart for the young Bosmer when she felt the weight against her shift and Fasendil moved, his eyes opening making her grab him. “Legate!”

He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth and he moved forward but she caught him, one of the other soldiers coming forward as well to grab him as he looked around, lost. His eyes focused and he stared at Rikke, slowly breathing out making her purse her lips in concern as his voice came out as a jagged whisper.

“Galmer… Galmer knew,” he said making her stiffen at the name. “He knew we’d be there. Someone… Someone sold us out.”

“Who?” she said immediately as she leaned into him, his breathing turning more ragged as he tried to inhale and she could almost feel his pain as he struggled to stand upright. She tried to help him, placing a hand against his back to make him stand straight in case his lung had collapsed but he could barely hold himself up “Who, Fasendil? Who told him?”

He shook his head. “Don’t… know…” he finally whispered before he fell forwards making her yell. His weight was too great and the men around her rushed to help grab him, his unconscious body being supported by the few who weren’t outright limping and she sighed as she let them take him. His blood ran down her arms and she pulled back looking down at them in disgust.

How could Galmer known? Who could have told him that they were doing an ambush that night? The blood on her made her heart twist as she realized the men around her had been sent to their deaths, a situation especially lethal for the Legate as his Altmer heritage made him a target and she clenched her hands into fists for a moment before collecting herself. She needed to take charge. The men – her men – were hurt.

“Get him back to camp. All of you, come on. You need to rest and your wounds need to be tended,” she said making some of them sigh in relief and she turned to the second in command who was staring at the wounded Legate with a worried expression. “You. What happened to the dragonborn?”

He said nothing for a moment but his shoulders fell making her fear the worst. “She… fell, Legate. She fell to the storm of arrows... We tried to grab her as we were retreating but… we couldn’t. They were on her and we had to go.”

“Was she alive?” she asked almost hopeful but deep down she had a feeling it was just wishful thinking.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t even know how we survived,” he admitted, looking away and she sighed. She didn’t press it. What happened to them was an obvious slaughter and betrayal, something she needed to get to the bottom of and she prayed to Talos that he gave the dragonborn a swift death if she had fallen. Or at least mercy if she was now a prisoner.

“Come on, men,” she said loudly, taking the lead as she moved to the front and protected them as they went back to the camp. “You all need to be healed. Those of you who are badly wounded, you’re going home. The Empire will not see you join in any more bloodshed. You earned your pardon and have done a great honor to your families.”

There was little celebration at her words and she didn’t expect there to be. When she reached the camp she called upon the Quartermaster who dropped his tools and rushed to her side when he saw the Legate’s body being held by his men. The bleeding Altmer was taken to his tent while the off-duty soldiers scrambled to dress and took care of their wounded comrades, one of them collapsing before the fire making them panic. Rikke stayed in the tent with Fasendil, ripping at the straps on his armor to free him and when she finally got a sight of the wound that had nearly cost him his life she stilled. She could see his intestines and she heard the Quartermaster balk a bit but she held her own. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a soldier’s guts and before the war was over, it wouldn’t be the last.

“His stomach needs to be stitched,” she told the Quartermaster who nodded a bit weakly. “Bring me some thread. And tell the men they’re starting shifts tonight. The camp and the wounded need to be protected. No one is allowed off. Not until we can get some backup. Then go to Ivarstead and fetch a courier,” she paused for a moment, watching the Legate's chest finally rise to take in air. “The General needs to know what happened here right away.”

“Yes, Legate!” he saluted and he returned briefly with her requested items before leaving, taking one of the horses that was tied to the posts. The soldiers around the camp scrambled like ants, each running around as the number of potions in the camp were gathered and consumed and she was left to deal with their wounded commander, the needle she had being given used to stitch his torn skin.

It wasn’t pretty but it would have to do and she forced him to drink one of the healing potions given to her, his body rejecting it but she got him to swallow it down. It helped ease his wound, the bruising around it still fierce but with it closed the chance of him getting an infection had gone down and she leaned against his bed, her hands clasping together as she thought.

They had taken Dawnstar, lost Falkreath, and while they pushed against Riften, the Stormcloaks made another chance at Whiterun. It was a mess by all accounts and she was angry. She was angry Tullius hadn’t taken her advice and pulled out of The Rift to secure Whiterun or at least take back the Hold of Falkreath. They were losing men faster than they could gain them and seeing the Legate before her, his breathing laboured and his golden skin a sickly pale yellow made her fear more that they were going to lose.

“Ulfric,” she said quietly as she heard the soldiers run near the tent. “Stop. You need to stop. You’re killing by the hundreds for what?” She looked up at the ceiling of the tent as if he would respond but nothing came. She briefly pressed her palms against her eyes before she moved, dragging the chair in the tent to the bed and she set herself up next to the wounded Legate on a watch, her sword being laid across her lap.

By Talos and the other Eight Divines, she was going to see through to the end of the war and do so with as many men as she could. If only her dear friend could see what he was doing. The Empire was needed. There were much bigger threats but she knew as long as he could not wear his amulet proud, he would resist.

She closed her eyes and began to pray again until the shadow of the night took over the camp.

 

 

She heard him moan before he properly woke, his eyes weary when they opened and she went to his side. He was confused, she could see it in his eyes, before he blinked and focused, the haze in them gradually lifting. He looked to her and let out a sigh of relief before his hand fell over his eyes making her smile. “Welcome back, Legate.”

“Gods…”

“I assume your travels into death and beyond did not go well?”

He smiled at her and moved his arm, wincing a bit as he did. “No. I’m not ready to spend my days with the aedra,” he said lightly before he focused. “Rikke… my men. Are they-?”

“Most of them are here,” she reassured him. “But a number of them fell.” He closed his eyes at her words and he reached up, rubbing the bridge of his nose which made her grab her chair and pull it to the side of the bed to face him. “Fasendil, I need to know what happened.” He sighed making her cheek twitch. “You mentioned Galmer. Did you see him?”

He nodded and he drew his hand back, his arm falling uselessly to his side. “That bastard always with Ulfric? Yeah. I saw him. Right before his blade hit my side.”

She pursed her lips. “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened and in detail.”

He moved a bit, settling against his bed and his eyes looked to the ceiling of the tent before they went to her and he frowned. She waited patiently, her hands folding as she did and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “We went to Fort Greenwall, just as we were told and we waited for Silfina to come from Riften… as you told us to do. She didn’t arrive until near dusk. She was getting herself ready with arrows… But she came. So we devised a plan.”

She was a bit unsettled at his choice of words. “You don’t seem too sure on the Tribune’s doings, Fasendil.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as he let out a long exhale and he spoke again. “Look, Rikke. I know she’s your soldier under you but… her armor. It’s not armor the Empire smiles upon.”

She knew what he meant. “You mean her light armor from the Thieves Guild.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I know,” she paused as the thought that had been bothering her all night finally came out. “Do you think she sold you out?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think so. The plan was for her and two of my soldiers to back us up with archery from behind while we stormed the gate. My men who are most proficient with a sword were first, then the rest of the soldiers in my group would go and then she would come in from the rear and her back up and take out anyone on the wall while we swept the courtyard. Only when we ran in, no one was there.”

“No one?”

“No,” he exhaled before reaching to rub his temple. “It was deserted. She came forward to me, expressing concern and…” He paused again making her shift, her foot lightly tapping on the boards beneath her feet. “She was hit with an arrow. Then one of my men were. Then I was.”

“Where?” she said and he pointed to his shoulder. She didn’t check there and he seemed to sense it. 

“I healed myself and Silfina. But they came pouring out of the doors and from behind the fort, boxing us in. They…” he inhaled sharply and held it and she could see the pain in his eyes. “…Cut down one of my men. Then that bloody bastard came to the front.”

“Galmer.”

“Yes.”

She almost didn’t want to ask. “What happened next?”

He scoffed. “Well, after he mocked us, as any stupid fuck would, insulting me as a Thalmor spy and Silfina as a Bosmer whore, he then proceeded to laugh over how we were practically given to them. By an elf, he said. Then he proceeded to insult me more before one of them tried to kill my men and I stopped it.”

Rikke leaned back at his words letting it soak in, her mind working frantically. “An elf… sold you out?”

“That’s what he said but he could have been lying.”

She didn’t like it and her thoughts went to the dragonborn. She didn’t jump to any conclusions and she made a motion for him to continue instead so she could hear the end. He merely sighed. “There’s not much to say after that. He took out his damned axe and hit me. I went down and some other asshole was on me and then it broke into chaos. One of my men grabbed me but not before I took a sword hilt to the skull. Then it gets a bit fuzzy...”

She sighed. “What of Silfina? What happened to her?”

“I don’t know, Rikke. She was beside me when Galmer attacked then she was lost when the fighting broke out. I didn’t see anything but blue uniforms and steel swords coming for my neck,” he admitted and she nodded, understanding. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. She’s a mortal after all and a lot smaller with less health than an actual damned dragon but… I just can’t believe it until I see her body,” she said quietly. “What concerns me more is our ambush being leaked to the Stormcloaks by ‘an elf’, if Galmer is to be believed.”

Fasendil sighed at her words, his body shifting a bit so he could look at her more. “Do you suspect Silfina?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “If it was her then Galmer would have said. He wouldn’t have kept that silent, especially if he thought all of you were going to die. He would gloat on it and yet he merely said it was given up by an elf.” She thought a bit more. “But he could have been mocking you. I personally do not think so but in warfare, people change. Anyone could have given up our plans to attack to them. They could have murdered one of our couriers as we did to them during the siege against Dawnstar. Right now, I don’t know what to believe.”

They were quiet and Fasendil turned a bit, staring at the ceiling. “I believe this is hopeless.” She looked at him for his odd words. He was rarely the kind to talk of defeat. “This fighting isn’t going to end, not until the Thalmor have us all dead beneath them. The Stormcloaks are just making it easier for them to come in and do as they wish.”

She found herself watching him, her eyes focused on his obvious features and she had to ask, just to sate her curiosity. “Fasendil… Why didn’t you ever join them? Aren’t they your kin? Do you really want to see your brothers burn?”

He looked to her almost shocked before he flushed. “Why did you join the Legion, Rikke? Aren’t the Nords your kin?”

She flushed when she realized her choice of words and she put her hands up in an apology. “Sorry. I stepped over my bounds…”

“No, it’s fine,” he muttered. “You’re not the first in the Empire to ask. I doubt you’ll be the last either,” he turned again wincing as his side touched the bed and he went back to his original position, the discomfort making him rub his stomach. “I just… can’t bear to watch them kill everyone. To see Dunmer children’s bodies lying next to their dead mixed parents in the fields where they were dragged or get another letter from my parents about someone in my family found hanging in the Isles.”

“Fasendil,” she said quietly and he shrugged it off, his eyes becoming a bit hard as he lay on his bed rather stiff.

“I need to help the Empire just as you, Rikke. Skyrim needs to be under the Empire’s direction so when the day comes again, we can join and fight back. Ulfric is just making it worse by killing off young men and women who are needed. The old and children cannot oppose the Thalmor. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see it!”

She sighed and leaned forward a bit propping her chin on her fist as she looked down at him. “He does know that, he’s just… he has his priorities wrong,” she said. “He believes Skyrim alone can oppose the Thalmor and that the Empire is too weak to ever fight again. He sees it as some sickly disease but we know the Legion. We’re preparing, just as the Thalmor are. I just wish he could see that the sons and daughters of Skyrim alone cannot ever hope to defeat a force which could probably take down the sun.”

Fasendil smiled weakly at her. “I doubt they’re that powerful.”

She found herself smiling back. “You know what I mean.”

They lapsed into silence again, his cheek twitching in pain every once in a while and she finally got up and brought him one of the last potions in the camp. He took it gratefully but only drank half. “If one of my men need it, give it to them.”

“That’s very kind of you, Legate,” she said as she set it on his dresser and she crossed her arms as she continued to think. Her mind went back to what Galmer had told him, how an elf had sold them out and she truly began to think of the dragonborn. But she knew Galmer and she knew he would have said if it was. Doing so would have been an injury to Fasendil and his men. It would have been salt on the proverbial wound before they killed them all.

It had to be someone else and she started to run through a list of any elf race who knew of the ambush other than Silfina and Fasendil when the sounds of galloping brought her gaze up. She stepped outside the tent and watched as a horse came tearing through the came, a man clad in the Legion’s colors on the saddle and she came forth. “Can we help you!?”

“Legate Rikke,” the man said as he looked down to her almost in hope he was right and she gave a nod to confirm. “General Tullius has sent word. You need to pull back to Whiterun. The city needs you and your soldiers on the march, pronto.”

She stared. “Half of these men are wounded! Not to mention the number dead!”

“His orders, Legate!” the courier said as he gave her the note and she took it angrily, ripping it open to see. Before she could even reply the courier saluted and turned his beast, the horse rearing before it stampeded out making a few soldiers dive out of the way. She crinkled the note, her anger filling her and she turned to see Fasendil struggling to get up. She went to his side to force him back down and she grabbed her helmet, her hands shaking.

“Rikke? Where are you going?”

She turned on him. “To Solitude! He cannot just demand this! You’re wounded! This regiment has been cut to a third! And we cannot back up Whiterun, which is under attack! Even marching through the night to there is insane and we’d lose more men on the way than would be beneficial!”

He frowned at her. “Rikke, don’t. We can move.”

“No, Legate! Enough is enough! This cannot go on. Otherwise we’ll be defending Solitude before winter comes and losing our heads there. We need a new plan and strategy and me being out here isn’t helping. I need to go back and rein Tullius in,” she said and he said nothing more but his unease was obvious. She put on her helmet and gave him a confident look. “This will be sorted out in less than two days, Legate, I promise.”

He said nothing as she took to the horses, grabbing her white stallion from the pack. She didn’t know what on Nirn Tullius was doing but taking the wounded forces from Riften would not help Whiterun. She could bet an amulet of Talos on it.

 

Two days later, Whiterun was free once again, the forces from Falkreath having rushed the plains to combat the Stormcloaks on their orders but before she could ride again, she got a letter. General Tullius, who had come to re-enforce the city, looked over her shoulder.

“What is that?” he asked as she opened it with a frown. She read the words carefully, her heart falling with every passing second and she leaned against the table heavily causing even the Jarl of Whiterun to look up.

“Fasendil is missing. The camp he was at… everyone was slaughtered,” she looked to Tullius who gave her a grave look. “There were no survivors.”

“We ride, Legate. Into the Rift,” he said quietly. “Cloak yourself in civilian gear. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She said nothing, the guilt coming to her on telling Fasendil to stay and she folded the letter up twice, her hands shaking as she did. This war was becoming too much. She didn’t understand how Ulfric could continue when she barely could. 

\--


	3. An Experiment of Confounding Factors (Drevis & Phinis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Since today is Friday the 13th and considered unlucky, how about a fic on one of the two holidays in Nirn that lands on the 13th? The Witches Festival and Meridia's Summoning day?
> 
> Wow, this took twenty minutes of me being an idiot. Eyyyyyy. But really, the college professors are gold.

“This is a mistake…” Drevis said, staring at the forge before them. “You know if Mirabelle hears of this, she’s going to kill you. Or worse, fire you.”

His companion let out an annoyed sigh, his hands gripping the edge of the rickety wooden table tight. “Drevis, if you’re too much of a child to be down here, maybe you should leave.”

“I’m not a child,” he spat. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.” He looked around for a second, as if there was someone observing them and he took a step towards his colleague, his voice lowering. “Besides, isn’t this supposed to be done outside?”

Phinis straightened a bit, picking up the book and the bowl of void salts nearby before he started walking towards the forge, still reading.

“Phinis?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” he said in an exasperated tone. “And yes. It is. But I am not trekking through snowdrifts larger than two of us put together to perform something that you can do with less mess beneath the college.” He began flipping through the pages before he kicked the handle of the forge, opening the small door to pour the salts inside, still reading as he did. “Besides, if this summoning actually works, it would be safer to have such a thing confined to the Midden and not the outskirts of Winterhold. The local Nords hate us enough already.”

Drevis sighed. “True.”

“Good. Now, hand me that ruby and that old waterlogged book. I think that’s all we need for this.”

His friend complied, carefully picking the items up from the table before he went and handed them to him. He watched Phinis study the ruby for a moment before both were dropped into the forge.

“Hey, Phinis?”

“Hm?”

“Where’d you find that ruby?”

He went silent for a moment and Drevis began to purse his lips.

“Phinis?”

He still said nothing.

“Rubies aren’t exactly easy to come by,” he pointed out. “Phinis?”

“I heard you! Now, be quiet! I need to shut the forge and hit the button. That should make this spring to life…”

Drevis stepped back. “Already?”

“Of course!” he replied, snapping the manual shut before he placed it on the ground near the forge. “Now, just… pull this handle. And…?”

The forge did indeed come to life. It was if the depths of Oblivion itself suddenly rose up and ignited the machine. Steam rolled out from the grate, flames licking the charred metal further and Phinis stumbled back, a smile wide on his face while Drevis stepped back further and got his invisibility spell ready. Whatever was going to come, it wasn’t going to kill him.

The machine groaned.

“Did you hear that?” Phinis nearly laughed. “The power this thing has!”

“Phinis, what in Nirn are you summoning?” Drevis had to shout as the center of the forge began to glow letting off a loud humming noise.

“A daedra, of course!” he replied. “Get ready, Drevis! In mere moments, you’re about to see the power of conjuration!”

Drevis gave him a look, his throat running a bit dry and the entire room began flooding with a bright light. In the center of the forge, a tear began to form as if ripping apart space and time and it burst into a bubble, wide with purple flames. Phinis began to laugh. Drevis readied his hand with his invisibility spell when the bubble burst.

A bucket hit the center of the forge and the machine died in an instant, black smoke billowing out from the grate.

Both of them stared.

It was Drevis who spoke first. “…A …Bucket?”

Phinis said nothing.

“You conjured a bucket?!”

His friend grabbed the manual, flipping through the pages frantically before he clucked his tongue.

“It was supposed to be a Flame Atronach.”

“Why is it a bucket then?!” Drevis spat, his cheeks now hot with embarrassment that he had actually been worried. “Are you sure this forge is even working properly?”

“It’s working!” Phinis snapped right back. He began pouring over the book again, flipping angrily before he slowly stopped. He stared off into space, his mouth twitching a little before he snapped the book shut.

“It had to be the ruby.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I got it off Enthir.”

Drevis stared at him. “Phinis… are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Why in Nirn-”

“I needed one, okay?” he cut back before he could even finish his sentence. “And he had one for sale!”

“Oh… Phinis. You idiot.”

“Oh, shut up!” he spat, turning around before he tossed the book on the chipped wooden table. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same if you were desperate!”

“I wouldn’t have,” Drevis said, giving his friend a look as he watched him grab his stuff. “Do you remember that Netch Jelly? Which was just Jazbay grapes crushed up in a Dunmer bowl? The Netch Jelly that didn’t cause paralysis and near cost me my life?”

“No.”

“What about when Colette bought those hawk feathers? And they were just chicken feathers with the tips dyed?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Do I have to even mention Savos and the Staff that caused body functions to increase instead of boosting targets?”

“You mean the staff that caused erections.”

“The Staff of Inspiration, yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Drevis said. “And you still went and bought from him?”

There was a silence and Phinis turned to look at him, his lips pressed thin and Drevis merely gave him a look. A look which meant he should have known better. He would have added a ‘duh’ to increase the effect but it seemed like he got it.

“I really hate the kids at this place.”

“You and me both,” he sighed. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before Mirabelle does find out what we were trying to do.”

“Fine,” he agreed, finally turning to leave when he stopped halfway up the slanted walkway that led to the ladder. “Hey, Drevis?”

“Yeah?”

“That bucket,” he said quietly. “Do… you think some daedra might try and come into Nirn to find it?”

He stared at him.

“What?”

“Phinis.”

“What?!”

“For a teacher… you really are an idiot.”

\--


	4. An Unexpected Request (Mirabelle/Ancano)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit foreplay and language.
> 
> This was written as a birthday present for an old friend. Looking back... it's not too bad. But I do wish AU's were loved more in Skyrim.

She stared at her blank screen, her arms folded as she did, her tongue pressing against her cheek as the sounds of the clock ticking away filled her office. She needed to write this email. It was absolutely critical. Yet every time she went to begin typing, her thoughts just faded away.

She tried again. “Dear Madam,” she quietly said to herself as she began typing once more. But nothing came after that. She tapped her fingers against the keys, irritated, before she deleted it all.

Maybe she should skip the introduction. Get right to the message. After all, she could always go back.  
But now she was faced with a larger problem. How was she going to word this?

She slumped in her chair again, looking out the window for a moment, the overcast day making her purse her lips. It looked like it was going to snow again and for a moment she began contemplating what to do if that happened. She needed groceries. She had been planning to run to the Winterhold market after her work was done but if the snow became too high then she would have to run home first and change otherwise she could break her ankle trying to navigate drifts in high heels.

And by the time she got changed, it would be dark. And being out in a snowstorm during the dark was about as intelligent as jumping into the sea of ghosts naked.

She rubbed her eyes. Julianos, have mercy on her.

“Mirabelle,” a voice came from her door making her look up. Her shoulders fell a bit as she looked to the dean of the college, his laidback jeans and jacket making her press her lips. He merely took a drink from his mug, the one that read ‘I’m a college dean, what’s your superpower’ and she let out a sigh.

“Savos.”

He came into her office, looking to her computer screen and she immediately leaned forward, making herself more professional as she adjusted the papers nearby.

“Something wrong?”

He frowned at her. “No. I just came to see how you were doing,” he said and she waited a beat, looking at him over her shoulder before he let out a sigh and placed his mug down. “Alright, I need help.”

“Did one of the students almost burn down the dorms?” she said automatically.

“Huh? No, no-”

“Burned down the library?”

“No!”

“Burned down the center building?”

“Mirabelle, no one’s burned anything!” he cut in and she pursed her lips. “The help I need isn’t to do with the students.”

“Well, it usually is,” she said and he opened his mouth to protest before he stopped and then silently agreed. She looked back to her computer screen and opened up her inbox in a new tab, checking quickly to see if she had anything new.

“I need you to talk to Ancano.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Well, because. I need to ask him something. But I can’t find him,” he said and she remained still in her chair. “And you seem to have a knack for finding him.”

“Just walk the halls, Savos. You can usually find him bothering students or the professors.”

“Mirabelle…”

She turned in her chair, staring at him, trying not to let him see her utter discomfort at his request. “Savos, you instructed me today to write this email asking the government for more funding. I don’t exactly have time to track down that… man.”

He frowned at her. “Mirabelle. He’s not that bad.”

She glared at him. “Savos, he’s utterly repulsive.”

“Come now, that’s a bit much.”

“Do you not agree?” she cut in. He opened his mouth, almost ready to protest but instead he let out a cough and looked away. She turned her chair back to her computer. She could feel her cheeks beginning to heat up.

“Fine. He is. But Mirabelle, please. It will take only a moment for you to find him. I just need you to ask him something.”

“What?” she nearly snarled as she opened up the blank email again, her eyes locked on it as her irritation was building inside her.

“I need you to ask him… if he could inquire… Well, if he knows if the Thalmor Agency would make a donation.”

She turned her chair back to him, shocked.

“To the college.”

“Are you mad, Savos?” she sputtered. “The Thalmor Agency is-!” she caught herself, her eyes moving to the open door of her office and she hesitated before lowering her voice. “Savos, they are a group of assassins, you know that.”

“Not all of them.”

“Savos!”

“Look, the college needs the money, Mirabelle!” he stressed and her eyes met his. For a moment she didn’t see his usual calm, laid back attitude but actual stress and it took her off guard. “We need outside investors. The government isn’t helping as much as you think and if we keep raising our tuition prices, then nobody will apply! We just need some quick money to keep this place from collapsing.”

“I’m writing an email to the government now about funding!” she hissed and he stared at her.

“Mirabelle, the college is more than a million dollars in debt. Do you really think we can get that sort of payout from the government?”

She went quiet.

“We need to spend money to make money.”

“Savos-”

“We need investors,” he said before he leaned down a bit, almost begging her. “Please Mirabelle. Can you just ask Ancano?”

She pursed her lips. “Savos. What if he says no?”

His cheek twitched. “Then… we’ll… have to ask others.”

“Can’t you ask them first?”

“Mirabelle, you know no one is as rich as the Thalmor Agency,” he pointed out and her tongue pressed against her cheek. “Please.”

She sat in her chair for a moment, her hands tight on her lap, her emotions ranging from irritated to fearful and she looked back at her computer screen. They would have had the money three months ago if four of their apprentices didn’t suddenly conjure a hoard of daedra that nearly destroyed the college. Though one of them had been expelled, the damage had been done and she pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

Everything had been going so well for them. Now she was getting ulcers in the night and Savos looked as if he actually matched his age - whatever that was. She got up, moving past him and he straightened as she moved into the hall.

“Thank you, Mirabelle,” he called after her and she said nothing, waiting until she hit the elevator before she pulled out her phone. She sent out a quick text, folding her arms after she did and she got an instant reply just as the elevator doors opened.

‘Five minutes.’

She sighed.

 

The basement of the college wasn’t a place she normally went. In fact, they kept the doors locked to the catacombs under it for a reason. Yet somehow students always found their way in. Thankfully, when she got to the main door leading to the forbidden halls the heavy lock on the chains was still intact and she pulled out her key. No one would be down there. That would make this easier, at least.

She walked down the hall, not even needing to cast a magelight as she did since she knew them so well and she made it to the small, abandoned classroom located near the ancient Atronach Forge. She checked her phone before she quickly peeked in on the forge pleased to see no recent activity of students daring to use it before she returned to her meeting point. The old classroom, with desks shoved around the corners and waterlogged posters and books scattered around, was less than ideal but it had to do. It was the only place she could ever get some privacy.

After all, the students avoided the classroom. They claimed it was haunted. She knew better. If the place was haunted then a hundred times over a ghost should have appeared when she was within it. And nothing ever did.

Though sometimes she did wonder.

“Mirabelle,” a voice came and she turned on her heel, her nerves shaken a bit until candlelight was cast. She stared at him, his black suit blending into the darkness, his golden eyes sharp and his turtleneck pulled high. She folded her arms.

“You said five minutes.”

“That was five minutes,” he growled before he stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind him. “What do you want? I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Ancano.”

“What?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she warned and he stared at her for a second before he moved past her, the candlelight bobbing over his head. He searched the counters, fiddling with some bottles as she watched and when the light began to die she sighed.

“The candles are in the drawer.”

“Which drawer?”

“The left one.”

He opened it and the light died leaving only a faint glow to enter the room from the crack under the door before flames were cast and the candle was lit. The weak, flickering light didn’t illuminate much, even when placed in an open jar and he turned back to her, his eyes running over her body and she flushed.

“You look well today,” he complimented. She flushed even more and he came to her side, placing the jar behind her on the old, pressboard desk. His hands reached for her skirt, his body coming to nearly be flush with hers and she did nothing as he began lifting it up until she remembered herself.

She grabbed his wrists. “I need to ask you something.”

He stopped. “What?”

She hesitated before swallowing her pride. “The college needs money.”

“So what?”

She glared at him. “Ancano, we’re financially in trouble.”

“Again. So what?”

She grit her teeth. “So what? That’s all you have to say? We will have to make major cutbacks or close our doors! This is serious!”

“Please. Politics is serious. The finances of this place isn’t.”

She slapped his hands away from her body. “Are you mental? This is politics!”

“Economic politics, which isn’t something big,” he cut in and she stared at him. Really stared at him.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mirabelle, unless we’re going to fuck, I’m leaving,” he snapped back. “Like I said, I am busy.”

“I never said we were going to have a go,” she snapped. “I said I needed to meet you!”

“What else would that mean!?”

“It means I need to talk to you!”

“In the place where we always fuck?” his voice raised. “How else am I supposed to take it!?”

“This place is private!” she began to raise her voice as well. “I wasn’t going to meet you in the middle of the cafeteria to start talking about the school’s finances!”

“Then you should have said ‘I want to bother you by yapping about money’ in your text!”

“I wasn’t going to bloody text it either!” she began to shout. “You wouldn’t have come if I said that anyways!”

“That’s right!” he shot back and she could have incinerated him. She shoved past him and began walking to the door.

“I knew this was a waste of time,” she muttered as she went to get the lock. “I told Savos.”

“Told him what?”

She didn’t pause as she unlocked the deadbolt. “Told him the Thalmor are not going to invest in us.”  
Before she could open the door he came up behind her and slammed it making her stop in shock and look to him. He stared down at her and she looked to him before she grabbed the handle to open the door again. He didn’t let her.

“What did that idiot say?”

Her hand gripped the handle tight. “Oh, so now you care. When Savos is mentioned.”

“Mirabelle, grow up,” he snapped making her mouth drop in offense. “What did Savos ask?”

She almost didn’t want to tell him. “He asked me to ask you if the Thalmor Agency could donate to the college.” She pulled the handle. “Now get out of my way. I want to leave.”

He slammed the door on her again when she tried to pull it open making her furious.

“Ancano!”

“Why does he want us to invest?” he asked her in a calm tone.

“How should I know?” she spat. “I wouldn’t ask your organization for a drink of water if I was dying of thirst!”

“Stop being dramatic,” he snapped before he leaned on the door preventing her from going. She almost considered kicking him but she wasn’t thirteen. “He wants us to bail you out? How interesting.”

“Ancano, will you move?”

He looked to her, the light hitting his face and she desperately wanted to shoot a fireball into his arrogant face. His expression was beyond infuriating. He said nothing for a while before he slid, knocking her away from the door as he took to leaning against it fully.

“You can tell Savos… we’ll think about it.”

She frowned.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he remarked, an odd look in his eyes. He opened his mouth, almost about to say more but he stopped himself and slowly began to grin which made her flush. “Yes, tell your incompetent boss we’ll think about it.”

She didn’t believe it. “What’s the catch?”

He said nothing.

“Ancano?”

He still said nothing and she let out a long, irritated breath. “Ancano?”

“There is no catch,” he finally said in an eerily calm tone. “Trust me.”

She gave him a wary look. “Fine…” she agreed. “Now move away from the door.”

“No,” he said making her glare at him. “We’re not done here.”

“Ancano, I don’t have-” she started but he grabbed her making her shout as he picked her off the floor. His mouth hit hers, his kiss more possessive than lustful and she fought against him, angry beyond belief she couldn’t touch the ground and when he let her mouth go she leaned back to strike him. He didn’t avoid it. “Put me down!”

“Aren’t you rather fiesty today,” he smirked and she could have choked him. “You’re not bleeding are you?”

“Ancano!” she spat, feeling herself move into a blinding rage mode like a polecat but he took her off guard by moving to nearly slam her against the pressboard, her skirt being pulled up and her panties being pulled down. She would have killed him if he didn’t move between her legs and when his tongue hit her she stiffened.

She fisted his hair. Damn did she hate him so bloody much. Especially when his tongue did THAT against her and she bucked.

“Ancano!” she shouted and he pulled back.

“Relax.”

“You utter prick!” she snapped but her anger was fading. “I’m not going to forgive you just because-!” His fingers pushed into her and she tensed. They began to move and she choked on a moan.

“Mirabelle, relax,” he muttered. “You need this more than I do, it’s rather obvious.

“Prick!”

“Trust me,” he said in a low voice. “You got your answer. You can tell your boss. But I’m not letting you go when you look like you’re about to start a massacre.”

Her chest began to rise and fall as his mouth hit her again and she was left reeling.

“You make me want to start a massacre,” she panted. “You’re so damned…”

“Good?”

“Infuriating.”

“As are you, Mirabelle,” he muttered, spreading her legs wider making her skirt rise up higher on her hips. “Now please, stop talking. Just enjoy this.”

She arched her back, her anger draining away. This is why she hated meeting him. Because he never let her do as she pleased. She wanted to be irritated. It was going to snow. She was sent to beg for money. She had an email to write begging for money. She had ulcers. Her entire life was falling apart. Yet he constantly pushed her to the point where he made her livid beyond belief but aching so much she couldn’t think straight.

He never let her just be angry. And it drove her mad.

She let out a cry as he began to lick her folds. “I… can’t stand you, you know that?” she tried one last time to be irritated. “You insufferable bastard.”

He let go of her making her shake and he leaned up, his mouth hitting hers. She could taste herself. Julianos help her. This wasn’t how she thought her day was going to go. And yet, the more he pushed onto her, the more she wanted it.

She didn’t want to go back.

“Likewise,” was all he said when they parted. “Mirabelle Ervine.”


	5. Blood-Drained Gold (Vingalmo Solo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Let's get some solo action up in here. Could be an angsty unrequited love daydream, or a spouse missing their loved one who's off to war. A weirdly resentful love/hate power fantasy. Maybe guilty forbidden attraction. Or, you know, just someone who's suddenly hot for something and takes matters into their own hands.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, I know I'm like the only one that ships them but whatever. I ship them hard. 
> 
> Additional Tags: Abuse of Ronthil, Solo Masturbation

It was light out - which wasn’t usually a time of day he would dare to be up, but something was bothering him. Something which he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least, and he took to stalking the halls, the two death hounds CuSith and Garmr raising their heads every time he passed by until they tired of the motion and went back to sleeping.

He went to the bookshelves, looking for something to preoccupy his mind, but he knew the tomes and words too well for it to quell the uncomfortable thirst inside him. He tried enchanting, alchemy, even kicking Ronthil which brought little thrill - though the Bosmer just stammered at him apologies for getting in the way which made him even more irritated - and he found himself back in his quarters. He rubbed his weary eyes and hissed.

It was her fault. No, he knew not to blame their newly returned Lady, for she was guiltless and perfection. But he still couldn’t help but blame her for these feelings he had. Feelings he hadn’t experienced since he was a stupid lad on the shores or Alinor. She wasn’t like the other women who roamed the castle and he didn’t mean because of her bloodline either. The other women were average, stubby, and in the case of Modhna, utterly flat. They did not provoke any feelings and he often said that without their spells of seduction, they would never feed well. But Serana was different.

Her skin was as pale as the comforting cold snow, her eyes the color of a harvest moon and when she smiled, the rare times she did, it made something in him stir. 

Despite how long she was locked away, she was still a lady through and through and he observed her too often as she dined with the utmost elegance, spoke with reservation yet confidence when challenged and collected books to read over, her eyes dancing over the page with wonder as she absorbed it. She was fascinating, beautiful, and utterly - dare he say - adorable. And her presence made the halls nearly sing.

He found himself too often watching her, truthfully. How she would stride outside the castle walls to be alone before the sunrise, her breasts rising when she took in the deep morning air. To when she would curl up in a corner away from them all with a book, trying to learn what she had missed, often her eyes glazing over when she became lost deep in thought. He wanted to approach her, to try and help her and talk to her but every time he tried either Garan would come and ruin it or his own damned body wouldn’t move to her. He wanted to say it was foolish nerves but he hadn’t felt his nerves in ages so he really didn’t know what it was.

But that day, he felt it. That horrible, churning feeling that was almost like bloodlust but different. He had to grab a goblet of fresh imperial blood, downing it a little too fast before he paced around his quarters. He began hissing again. He was agitated and high emotions were never a good thing. He wasn’t a bloody Nord and he needed to calm down.

He drank some more, eventually taking to his bed and he sat, miserable, his fingers digging into his thigh. This was lunacy. He growled, scratching at his skin as he felt the blood trickling into his veins, the life-sustaining liquid making him almost alive again when he felt something. His hand brushed between his legs, his eyes moving down in confusion before he realized what it was. An erection? Really? No, Serana couldn’t have… He grit his teeth.

“Stop thinking of her,” he commanded himself in a low tone but he still could feel the blood moving down, pulsing in him. “She’s Lord Harkon’s daughter!”

It didn’t matter. And soon he was faced with an odd feeling. He was hard, something he hadn’t been in decades, maybe, and he could only think of the fair-skinned Coldharbor vampire, her dark red lips slowly curling into a smile, her black hair falling over her shoulder and he dug a hand into his thigh.

He first went and locked his door. After all, if that fool Orthjolf found out, he would never hear the end of it. Or worse, if Harkon found out he could be demoted. The second thing he did was swallow the last of the imperial blood he had in his room, moving to sit awkwardly on his bed. And he sat. And he sat. Until he could feel the pain again of not tending to himself when he was hard and he swore. He felt hot like the cursed sun from the reminder alone.

“This is ludicrous,” he said to himself. Yet that part of his brain he swore he repressed, the young, horny altmer who had a startling amount of men and women in its day, seemed to almost press forward in glee. _Yes, touch yourself, it begged. Serana is fair and beautiful and it is no wonder he was affected, even when dead._

He looked to the door as if she might come in, having heard his thoughts but it was quiet and he was left still sitting uncomfortably and hard. His mind fought with itself, the logical side reminding him how distracting and completely human it was to give in to such urges. While his irrational, boyish side bombarded him with thoughts of the fair vampire he lusted for, how they knew how much she filled out her robes, how her legs were probably just as milky white as her chest and how she probably felt hot and inviting if he ever entered her.

“Stop it,” he groaned to himself, pressing his fingers against his eyes but his right hand grabbed himself at the constant pushing of his lewd thoughts. Wouldn’t he like that? To be inside the beautiful daughter of Coldharbor? To have her panting against him, her teeth scraping against his neck. To have his name moaned from her dark lips, her eyes only on him.

He turned, moving onto his side as he laid on his bed, his hand starting to move against himself, stroking his erection despite the cloth separating him from direct contact. His damned mind kept pushing and he rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm as he hand worked himself. By the daedra, what if she did find out he was doing this to himself while thinking of her? He could almost hear her voice coming out in that sultry, sweet tone.

 _‘You were thinking of me?’_ her lips parted slightly and he licked his own in response, his tongue moving to rub against his sharpened left canine. _‘Vingalmo… I had no idea.’_

“Bloody aetherius,” he groaned to himself, finally wrenching at his belt to free himself. It had been a while since he touched himself while hard and the damn sensation alone made his heels dig into his bed. He could see her behind his eyes, her soft smile, her silken black hair swaying and he panted at the thought of her leaning down over him.

 _‘We could get in a lot of trouble if we did this’_ she said to him and he smirked.

“What fun is it if there wasn’t some danger?” he found himself saying and he nearly stopped to pat himself on the back for the thought. He would have to remember that. He imagined her giggling, leaning back to look to him favorably as she played with the bustline of her robes and she gave him that smile which made his hand move faster.

 _‘It wouldn’t be much fun’_ she said, tugging the front of her robes down just enough for him to see the curve of her breasts. He groaned and squeezed himself, his cock pulsing in his hand, a strange warmth being felt against his palm as he did and he increased his speed a bit, just to get a bit more friction.

He wanted to ask the figure of Serana to pull her robes down more but he couldn’t imagine what she would actually look like and he had to be accurate. He instead remained content with the curving of her breasts, something he had seen over and over and he rolled slightly on his bed as his fingers worked himself. He dragged his thumb over his slit every time he went up, careful not to stab himself with his nails as he did and he stopped briefly to tease some precome out of his body. He panted at the feeling and he began shifting more while the image of Serana watched him with interested eyes in his mind.

 _‘Are you close?’_ she asked and he let out a shaky breath.

“No,” he admitted. It felt nice but there was something missing. Something to just tip him over the edge and his vampiric figment gave him a suspicious smile. She leaned over and he could swear he felt her breath on him to the point where he actually had to raise his arm and look. Nothing was there but he could damn well feel it and he fell back, covering his eyes. She was there, just as she had been, and she was grinning at him.

 _‘What about my mouth?’_ she asked in such an innocent voice. _‘Would that help?’_

He swallowed, his adam’s apple moving as he did. “I would love your mouth on me,” he admitted to himself. She smiled.

 _‘So would I,’_ she teased. _‘I know you pay very close attention to my mouth. You watch it when I speak sometimes.’_

“Because you speak so eloquently,” he said. “The way your tongue moves when you speak is hypnotic and you are always clear.”

She nearly giggled and he groaned. _‘You watch my tongue?’_

“I want your tongue,” he moaned and he arched his back, his cock starting to shake at the thought. Yes, he wanted her tongue, he wanted her body, and he plain wanted her. Not for her status, not to please her father, not for her bloodlines but for the fact that she was beautiful, intelligent, and what felt like his match in dead form. He wanted to stay up late listening to her talk or hear her giggle more. He wanted to feel her form against him and have her touch his body back. In another lifetime, he may have even wanted children, as silly as that was. But for now, in his current dead form, he just wanted her.

He stopped thinking of her imaginary form teasing him and focused on just relieving the pressure built inside him. He jerked himself hard, his toes curling at the sensation of his cock - now warm from the friction - wanting to unload itself and he brought his hand down to grab at his sheets as he did. His mind continued to bombard him with thoughts, how she would look riding him, how her breasts would bounce, her mouth would open, her eyes would glaze over, or how she may be more reserved and shake and quiver with every thrust he made until she couldn’t hold on anymore.

It was that thought, of her choking out his name as she rode him, her body spasming on his cock that sent him over the edge and he had to bite hit pillow to let it absorb the groan caught in his throat. He spilled onto his hand, the thick, sticky come coating his fingers and palm and he slowly drew down from his high. He was left exhausted, his body slumping against his bed and he breathed hard as he finally opened his eyes.

Such an act left him lethargic, his eyes weary and unfocused as they tried to figure out which way was up and what was real and he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His cock was flaccid again but the come was stained on his hand and he wrinkled his nose, forcing himself to get up to grab a cloth. He cleaned himself, changing his robes just in case they smelled like he had been indulging in mortal acts and he went back to lying on his bed, folding his arms on his chest as he did.

Now that his damned emotional side was dying off, he was left with only his logical side which seemed to sigh and berate him for such thoughts. Serana was Lord Harkon’s damn daughter. As if she would be interested in doing carnal acts with him. A Vampress’ seduction was a rouse to make mortals think they could indulge in dangerous sex, not other vampires. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. He needed to get another hobby. Perhaps he should move up to beating Ronthil like a dog. That would cure his problems, wouldn’t it?

He didn’t dwell on the thought long as he finally drifted off.

When he woke, the rest of the castle was already up and he quietly joined them, pretending as if he had woken much earlier despite the fact he felt like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Finally up, elf?” Orthjolf called from the dining room floor making him glare at him in irritation. “A leader would be up before everyone else. Looks like you may not be cut out for such a position.”

“Go walk in the sun, barbarian,” he snapped but his eyes shot to Lord Harkon just in case he had heard. Their Lord was digging into his plate of intestines and not remotely interested making him relax. Beside him, Serana sat, using a fork like a lady should but she didn’t seem interested in her meal.

He found himself parched as he looked at her. His dreams didn’t compare to her actual beauty and he moved back into the shadows by the bookshelves, his body feeling strange as it did. He felt… nervous, to put it bluntly. As if she knew. As if everyone knew and he fiddled with his hands until he went to fetch a goblet, drowning himself in it to distract himself.

He was on his third glass when a voice came from near him. “Vingalmo? Are you alright?” He turned, his eyes locking on the tiny Bosmer near him and he narrowed his eyes. “That’s, um, quite the bit you’re consuming this morning.”

He stared at Ronthil, distaste filling his mouth and he remembered his thought from before. He set down his glass, moving to grab the bosmer who at first seemed confused before he stiffened in fright.

“V-Vingalmo? S-Sir?”

He went to the balcony, aimed, and tossed the boy over. The little vampire only made a distressed peep before he slammed into the space beside Orthjolf, making the Nord yell as his plate flipped onto himself, blood spilling all over the table.

“Ronthil!” Orthjolf shouted making the crumpled vampire struggle to get up to reply. “You stupid boy! Get over here and clean this up!”

“Y-Yes sir,” he coughed and Vingalmo found himself smiling as he moved back to his place by the bookshelves, his hand grabbing his goblet again. He didn’t even look to Serana and his mood neutralized at the thought. Maybe he did just need another hobby. After all, like he had said, she was the daughter of a vampire lord. And vampire lords did not fall in love.

\--


	6. Brenuin and Lucia (Brenuin & Lucia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a 'misfire' and I say that loosely. 
> 
> HI!!!  
> ...  
> Shut the fuck up!
> 
>  
> 
> Whatever, I did it. I consider this a misfire but not really.

"Hi!" a small voice said making him turn, the mead in his hand sloshing. "Can you... Can you spare a coin?"

"Get lost, street rat!" the man clad in leather snapped and she jumped back, her face falling and Brenuin frowned at the sight at the girl near the Gildergreen. He watched her watch the man walk away, her hands falling to her sides and she looked as if she was about to cry before she swallowed it down and brought her hands up again. She looked into the crowd, waiting for someone to walk by and he found himself observing her. She didn't look like one of those typical child urchins.

"H-Hi!" she asked another man. "Can-"

"Shut the fuck up," he cut back. "I don't pity the weak."

She swallowed, watching him walk away too before she looked back at the crowd, her hands shaking.

A woman walked near her. "H-Hi!" she said, stepping forward to get in the woman's way. "Can... Can you spare me some money?"

The woman stared at her before raising her hand. "Get away from me you little brat!"

The child's face fell, her eyes widening in shock and he nearly dropped his mead as he watched the woman slap the girl with the side of her hand. She stumbled back. "Insolent thing! How dare you come near me!"

He moved. "Hey, lady," he snapped, the mead in his system giving him a bit of courage. "What's the matter with you? Hitting a child!?"

She looked to him, her thin nose wrinkling in disgust and he stumbled between her and the girl. "You deaf? I said what's wrong with you?"

"This your girl?" she asked and he frowned.

"No."

"Then this isn't your concern!"

"Yeah, it is," he cut right back, reaching behind him and he felt the little girl. She instinctively clutched his back. "You don't hit kids."

"I don't hit kids," she sneered. "That girl is not a kid."

"Yeah? Then what is she? An elephant?" he said and he felt the little girl clutch him harder.

"She's a mongrel. A teenager. And if she and you had a brain, you would turn and go back to the alley in which you lie!" The noblewoman snapped. Brenuin narrowed his eyes. Then he did the unthinkable.

He dumped the last of his mead on the woman who proceeded to shriek.

"There, have some honeyed mead! Hopefully it will help you not stink like shit you are! But I have a feeling that will never go away!" he said.

"Guards!" she shouted, the crowd of people now turning to see what was going on. "GUARDS!"

"That's our cue, little girl!" he said and he grabbed her hand, pulling her away as he ran for the steps that led down to the plains district. He could hear the woman still shouting, the sounds of laughter from someone in the crowd and he ducked behind the Drunken Huntsman with the little girl in tow, her eyes wide and dress tearing at the hem but she didn't let go of his hand. He crouched, bringing her close.

"You alright?" he asked and she panted, looking behind them wild with fear.

"I... I... think so..."

"Good. Because that was my only bottle of mead," he complained, slumping back and he sighed, looking to the sky as the sounds of guards running around filled the streets. "How come you're out begging? Where's your parents?"

She still looked frazzled, her one cheek turning a bright red but she stepped closer to him, crouching down as well. She touched her cheek after a moment.

"They're dead," she said in a soft voice. "I'm... all alone."

"How come you don't go to the orphanage?"

She frowned. "They wouldn't take me. They said they were full. And that... I should... go earn some money or send myself to the divines."

He furrowed his brow. "What pricks."

She smiled at that.

"Hey... I'm Brenuin."

He held out his hand and she paused before she took it, letting him shake.

"Lucia."

"Well, Lucia, welcome to Whiterun," he said as he leaned back, hearing the captain of the guard yell for his men. "Where the mead should flow more and the people should be more gracious but hey," he looked to her and she bit her lip. "At least it ain't Windhelm."

\--


	7. By Chance (Niruin/Syndus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> I guess what I’d like to see is any two NPCs getting it on. They can be characters who interact regularly or characters who could literally never interact in any way. I don’t really care which.
> 
> Eyyyyyyyy. Have a rarepair that actually would make some sense.
> 
> Additional tags: Wall sex, Snark, Rough Sex, Bosmers Together in a Great Way

He had been taken into the Warrens where the other members of the Guild couldn’t see. Not that he really cared if they knew who he was involved with but Syndus did. He was still trying to prove himself competent enough to be their archery merchant and he didn’t wish for them to see their involvement together as him trying to buy his way in. Even though there wasn’t exactly feelings between them so it wasn’t really scandalous or a problem, he still felt that way and he let him. Personally, between the two of them, he just wanted a quick frequent fuck - and wouldn’t you know, his fellow kin was the only one who wanted to damn well give it to him when he got him drunk one night.

But, Syndus demanded they not be exposed and he agreed. After all, what was he going to say? No? Ha! He’d gone on too long without being under someone and he was damned lucky to have the fletcher willing to break him in like he used to get before.

Really, though, it happened by chance. He didn’t really place himself as homosexual since he did enjoy being with a woman sometimes but his previous thieves guild was mostly men and they had taken turns on him when he did a good job, not the girls. He had to admit he liked it, especially when they made fun of him being a rich boy hungry for commoner and cutthroat's cocks. He played the role and was mildly sad when he left them for Skyrim but he was more at home within Riften anyways than forever being a fucktoy to a guild that wasn't that prosperous.

The only problem with Riften was none of the members engaged in heavy orgies. In fact, most of them didn’t engage with each other at all unless it was to provoke the other into a fight. He fell in line with it, using his wit against a lot of them when they were being irritating but he did miss being pounded. And not from a fight. Old habits tended to die hard.

So when Syndus came in, asking to be a merchant for them as he was a great fletcher and all that nonsense, linked with other thieves, blah blah. He couldn’t help but ask him when he got him alone on who he had been with. One thing led to another and, well. Again, by chance, Syndus did indeed partake in breaking in the new blood in his old guild.

And, well, what did you know? He preferred to be on the bottom anyways.

Now, in the present time, he was pressed against the cold, slick walls of the warren, his knees hurting in the right way as his Bosmer kin thrust hard into him. He wasn’t impressive, not like that time he took that Altmer, but he felt good enough to get him hard and panting. He wasn’t rough but wasn't gentle either and their session really did appear like they were just two horny Bosmer trying to get off. Well, Syndus did confess it had been a while not that long ago and hearing that, Niruin knew he had found his new favourite kin. They needed each other to get off. 

And at the moment, that’s exactly what he was doing. He rode the merchant behind him, his thrusts meeting the other’s back and in time he knew he would be coming. However, there wasn’t really any fun in that and he finally reached behind him, grabbing at Syndus. “H-Hey…”

“Hn?”

“I thought you used to break in the new blood,” he said, panting a bit when he paused. “This feels more like a walk through a garden.”

He felt him tense and he grinned. He needed to get pounded like he used to get before and Syndus stepped it up, adjusting and driving down making him struggle and grip the wall. Oh yes, like that. Just like that…

His tongue swiped his ear making him jerk and pant like an animal. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he hissed, thrusting back harder against him, his cock practically dripping and Syndus teased his ear more making his thighs shake and his vision cloud. Oh, by the gods this was what he wanted. He could feel that wonderful sensation in his stomach, his legs hurting and balls aching but before he could come, Syndus pulled away making him choke. “W-Wait!”

“Not yet,” he was told making him groan in frustration. His hips were grabbed and he was made to thrust back in a rhythm against him, the wet slapping of skin making his neck burn in embarrassment and desire and he jerked when he felt Syndus press his thumb over where they were connected.

“Ask me nicely.”

Niruin couldn’t help but smirk. “For what?”

He heard him chuckle from behind. “To let you come. Unless you don’t want to?”

“Oh, I do,” he groaned, grinding against the merchant and loving the sharp intake of breath he took. “Just clarifying.”

“Hn. I can see why you were your old guild’s whipping dog. You lack discipline.”

He looked over his shoulder at him, grinning. “That’s what made it fun.”

Syndus smiled at him, raising a brow and he went back to pressing against the wall, riding him for a moment before he relented. “Please, Syndus. Will you let me come?”

“I suppose,” the answer came and he was pulled back a bit so he wasn’t completely flush with the wet wall. His cock was grabbed making him tense and clench around the dick in his body but Syndus didn’t miss a beat. He started jerking him off in tune with his thrusts, his warm hand feeling exquisite on him and he lasted less than a minute before he was coming against the wet stones below, his body shaking and head light as he did.

It felt so good to come again by someone else’s hand and he half-wished they had been facing each other so he could have given him a sloppy kiss but he had to instead make do with merely clenching around him. Syndus didn’t last long either, especially when he began to grind back on him and the poor merchant pulled out and came against his thigh, panting as he did.

Okay, it was rather lackluster but it’s not like they still knew each other. They were still trying to adjust into something right for the both of them. Only he wanted it a bit more than the merchant did. He held them up though, not really wanting to get his armor dirty with muck and come but it was a struggle as his knees and hands were weak and Syndus wasn’t exactly light.

His ear was nipped, the sensation driving right now to his cock and he jerked, panting. “H-Hey! Once is enough for today.”

Syndus smirked. “Really? I used to go on the new blood at least four times.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a newcomer. I actually do have a job I need to get to. Mercer’s orders.”

“Whatever,” came the reply but his weight lifted off and Niruin sighed, struggling to stand. His knees were soaked and he tried to brush it away but it didn’t do anything. He pulled up his trousers, ignoring the come drying on his leg, and he tied the belt tight before he looked to the fletcher who was adjusting his own robes, his skin rather flushed and ears red.

And it was in that moment that he realized he wanted him more. Not now, but in the future. They may not have a real relationship but somehow he was wishing they did. It was a shot in the dark, but he had to ask. He smiled at him rather kindly. “You know, Syndus… if you want to go longer, maybe we should meet again this week. When I don’t have a job.”

He paused and looked to him. “You want to meet back here?”

“No,” he said, looking out at the rather creepy enclosed maze. “I was actually thinking at the Bee and Barb. I can get a deal on a room. Then you can try and break me in…”

His kin smiled a bit. “Try? I will break you in.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “We’ll see.”

\--


	8. Calm Before the Break (Jarl Laila Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: Someone misses something. A person, an activity, an item. Anything you can come up with. No squicks.
> 
> Seems I neglected to add this in.

It was that time of year again and Laila sighed as she sat up in her bed, the windows still dark despite it being morning. She sat for a moment, her heart heavy and shoulders becoming cold before she moved, lighting the candle she kept by her bedside. It gave off little light but it was enough for her to find her housecoat and she pulled it on, bringing the loose ends around herself so she could get warm.

The windows were frosted and she scratched at it so she could see outside but it still gave little indication on what time of night it was. She relented and went to open the door to balcony, a fierce chill hitting her as she peeked out. She was presented with the sight of snow covering part of the stones, the sky completely dark with roaming clouds and she frowned. Snow had fallen at some point during the night but that wasn’t very unusual for the time of month.

She shut her door, moving to her dresser and she put on plain clothes to warm her, not bothering with her thick robes. She wanted peace when she went out that morning and she tugged on a pair of wool gloves, some of the seams coming loose making her frown. It didn’t matter as she wouldn’t be out for long and she shut her dresser, going back to her bedside to straighten her covers and fix her bed.

When she was finished she stood for a moment, sighing once more, before she opened her double doors that led down to the Mistveil Keep throne room and Commander’s quarters. Both her sons doors were closed and she contemplated leaving them alone before she cracked. It was an old habit that died hard and she had to just see if her boys were even in their rooms.

She checked on Harrald first, his dirty boots near the door making her frown as they had stained the boards instead of the rug she had put down. He was sleeping soundly, the candle by his bedside burning low and she felt her heart ache a little. His feet hung over his bed now, the covers a complete mess and she recalled how it felt like yesterday she had been tucking him in, his little frame not even taking up three-fourths of the bed. He had grown up so fast and she leaned against the frame, thinking back to when he had been given the room for himself. He had only been ten.

He had been so excited to no longer share a room with his younger brother who cried over the fact but his first night, he came to her room, scared to be alone. She had picked him up and soothed him and when she took him back to his room after his fears were alleviated, Saerlund came, scared as well now that he no longer had anyone with him.

They had clung to her, begging her not to leave them until they had both fallen asleep and she had done so, promising to protect her boys. Now they barely spoke to one another and Harrald seemed determined to make her turn against her own son – his brother - which disturbed her greatly. She didn’t know what she had done wrong as a parent, truthfully. She had tried to give them everything that she could and yet her house was now divided.

“It would have been different if you were here,” she said to herself, looking at her sleeping son. She wished she could turn back the clock to have him be ten years old again with that adoration he used to have for her in his eyes. The thought made her go check on Saerlund, her dear youngest’s room in a different order and she found herself playing with the amulet of Talos around her neck as she looked to him. He had a stack of books by his bedside, the lute he used to love to play sitting to collect dust in the corner and she had to go and pet her son’s thick reddish hair.

He mumbled something in his sleep and she nearly broke into tears. How could her own son divide them like this? She had always taught them to do what was right just like he had asked but now their one could face treason if he continued on his path. She took his blankets and pulled them up higher on his shoulders, kissing her son’s head for a second like she did when they were still her little cubs and she shut his door behind her when she left.

She had to do the same to Harrald, her little boy not even stirring at the feeling of her tucking him in and she gently shut his door with a soft click, letting out a tired sigh as she did. She needed to now find Unmid so she could go out, her body already feeling weary.

He was downstairs in his room having a cup of mead when she entered, his armor not even fully on. He stared at her, shocked.

“Milady,” he said, hastily moving to grab his gear. “You’re up at this hour? Is something wrong?”

“Unmid,” she said with a heavy voice. “Do you know what day it is?”

He frowned deeply, unsure and she had to sigh. She pulled out her amulet of Talos, showing it to him and he slowly straightened.

“I need to go to the graveyard,” she said and he didn’t protest. He only nodded, grabbing his gear and she watched him quickly dress, his greatsword being strapped to his back. She moved to go first but he stopped her.

“Walk behind me,” he said. “If anyone attacks from the front, I can knock them back.”

“What if they attack from behind?” she said and he frowned deeply. He went and grabbed one of the tired looking guards, forcing the man to wake.

“You,” he said. “Your Jarl needs to go out. Protect her back with your life. If you fail, I will personally run you through. Understand?”

“Unmid,” she said with a sigh but the guard straightened, his hand moving up to salute.

“Y-Yes, housecarl!” he said before looking to Laila. “I will protect you, my Jarl!”

She sighed, not in the mood to really thank him back or indulge in conversation and thankfully Unmid moved before it became too awkward for her not to reply, her following behind right after. They walked in a line and he opened the doors of Mistveil keep for her, the cold air outside making her shiver despite her Nord blood. Lanterns were lit around the city but there was still little light to see even the walkways. Unmid grabbed a lantern, holding it so she could see and they moved silently to the graveyard, not even the stray dogs in Riften barking in the early morning darkness.

They went the path around the Black-Briar residence near the statue of Talos the city held by the east wall. It shone from the flickering of the candles that had been lit for it around the base, some even perched on the dragon. Someone had left a helmet at the base and Laila couldn’t help but smile fondly, glad the god was still getting the recognition and respect he deserved.

They came to the graveyard which had twisted roots and dead flowers slumping over the tombs, the snow on them thick and heavy. She frowned at the sight, hoping his grave wasn’t the same but when she came upon it, it looked like the others. Unmid moved to standing over her, unhooking his weapon and he pointed to the rear guard.

“Go stand at the gate,” he ordered. “Any signs of movement, you come back, understand?”

“Yes housecarl,” the guard said, quickly leaving and she was left alone with the grave and Unmid at her back. She began by pulling the dead nightshade plants from where they had fallen, pushing them against the stone wall before she wiped the snow off the headstone. It was starting to slightly erode and she frowned, stroking his name.

“My darling,” she said softly. “We’re going to have to re-chisel you soon, aren’t we?”

Nothing answered her back but she knew in her head he was agreeing and she picked up his fallen shield, wiping the wet snow from its rotting frame. All the iron had rusted on it now and she sighed, remembering what it had looked like when it was new. She would have liked to have given it to Saerlund when he got of age but the old fool did always love his shield too much to part with it, even to his heirs. She set it right, digging in the snow to find his sword and the cold metal blade made her hands burn even with gloves as she picked it off the ground.

“Shor’s Teeth,” she said, her hand running down the dull blade. “I still don’t think you are an impressive blade, but you served my dearest well.” She set it next to his shield, pushing back more snow at the base and the doused candles on the old platter soon revealed themselves to the side in the nightshade bramble. She pulled them out from where they had fallen, waving the dirt, leaves, and snow from the platter before she set it up properly.

Though she had forgotten to bring a match or starter making her frown. This wouldn’t do. She turned to Unmid who was holding his sword against his shoulder, the lantern still in his hands and she grabbed some of the nightshade roots.

He nearly jumped when she approached his side and he let out a grunt. “You’re finished?”

“No,” she said, opening the side of the lantern to catch some of the fire. He watched her, confused, but she didn’t say anything. Once she got a flame she quickly moved back to her candles, cupping the tiny bit of warmth as she did. One of the wicks managed to catch but the other two refused making her pick at them, the solid wax they were coated with hard.

It didn’t take long to get all the candles lit but once she had, the sky was beginning to lighten. Though there was no sign of the sun she could hear the distant sounds of cats yowling and her people beginning to wake. The guards were changing making her frown, looking back to Unmid but he didn’t move. Neither did the guard he instructed to come with them and she pulled up the hood of her robes, moving closer to her husband’s gravestone.

Once it got quiet again, she began to pray. It was her usual prayers, of course, to Talos to give them victory, for Akatosh to curse the Empire and dragons, for Mara to make her sons love each other again so they could stop fighting. She thanked Zenithar for her wealth, Dibella for her beauty, and Kynareth for the bounty she always got but she skipped over Julianos. She never knew what to ask for from a mage-loving god. But Arkay was last and she sat quietly, opening her eyes to cast them on the grave in front of her.

She never blamed anyone for her husband’s death. Accidents happened. The wilds of Skyrim were fierce and not for cowards. But even fifteen years after his death she still couldn’t understand why Arkay had let him go. He was a Jarl. Didn’t he have better protection than most? She could have understood if they were peasants but he was a leader and a warrior. One of the divines should have stood on his side against the bear. Instead, she was alone and it made her heart burn with how much she missed him.

Worse, her sons resembled him in so many ways making her more forlorn. If Saerlund grew a beard, he would be his spitting image and she sighed, reaching up to rub her temple at the thought. The boys didn’t remember him but she still recalled every feature he had. She held on to his old clothes, having hidden them in a stone box behind the fireplace wall. She checked them every so often to make sure they hadn’t burned and to inhale her old husband’s scent but mostly, she kept it quiet. Nord women were not supposed to mourn in such a way. Strong Nord women moved on and fought twice as hard against the world for their loss.

But she was getting soft in her old age and with the damn war being so preoccupying, sometimes she just needed a memento to hold of her old life being the wife of a Jarl.

“Oh, my sweet,” she said to the grave. “If only you could have been here longer to see your sons grow. If you were here, Saerlund would never have gotten his head so messed up with Imperial sympathizing. You three could have ridden to battle together with Ulfric.” She touched the cold grave, wiping off a bit of the dirty moss trying to grow on it and she sighed at the sound of a rooster crowing prematurely, the sun not even cracking the surface of the horizon.

Her thoughts went back to her husband and her sons and she found herself at a loss. All things considering, Harrald turned out fine without his father. Maybe her one sided parenting wasn’t so bad. But his lack of care for his brother now worried her. Saerlund had deviated so much yet he still held her husband’s facial features and strong, unwavering resolute. She didn’t know how to fix it and she wondered if this was Arkay’s plan all along, to test her as a Nord in the face of having her husband die and her sons tear them apart.

“Help me, my dear,” she pleaded quietly. “If you could just make Saerlund change…”

“My lady,” Unmid said making her pause, turning slightly to indicate she was listening. “Our lanterns are dying. I would rather not have you out here in the early morning darkness.”

She frowned and looked back to her husband’s grave. She was spending less time with it every year.

“Can’t you wait?” she said. “This is my husband. Your former Jarl.”

He frowned at her, sympathetic, but he didn’t budge. “Your husband would not want his wife to be slain while mourning him. Assassins are everywhere, Milady, especially now in the coming winter when the armies get desperate. You need to be protected.”

She sighed.

“I would never forgive myself if you were lost in such an open position,” he said and she rubbed her eyes. “Please, Jarl Laila. I know it is hard and I mean no disrespect. But we’ve been here long enough.”

She wanted to protest but he was right and she knew her husband would have sided with him. She could almost see his head nodding in agreement and she moved to stand, wiping her robes from her knees as they now were stained from the snow.

“Alright,” she said. “Lead the way.”

He seemed relieved and she looked back at her husband’s grave, her heart aching as she did. She eventually followed Unmid out, cutting past the Black-Briar residence once again and only when they were in Mistveil Keep did he sheathe his weapon. She sighed, fluffing her robes and she went to return back to her room to change, her peasant gear no longer needed.

She met her sons on the steps, Harrald pushing Saerlund who looked miserable. “Mother!”

“Mother, tell Saerlund-”

“Harrald, shut up-!”

“Enough!” she said, not in the mood and they both paused, frowning at her. She waved her hands, making them part to give her way and she headed to her room, her heart still heavy. Her boys followed after.

“Why are you wearing black clothes?” Harrald said suspiciously. “Did someone die?”

“Mother, your knees are wet,” Saerlund said and she didn’t respond, moving to grab her exquisite robes. “Did something happen?”

She let out a sigh, looking to her boys. If only he could have seen them grow up and the thought made her reach up to touch her neck, her sadness hitting her. She had to sit down, trying hard not to cry and her boys were immediately at her side.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” Saerlund begged to know. Harrald pushed him over making him flush. “H-Hey!”

“Mother, what happened?” Harrald asked, bringing out his dagger. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Oh, Harrald, put that away,” she said in a stern voice making him flush. She shook her head. “Nothing happened to me. It’s just…” She covered her mouth, calming herself. Fifteen years and it still hurt and she looked to her boys. Both were staring at her with concern, Harrald in his new winter furs and Saerlund in his Morndas robes. If only he could see them and she couldn’t help the tears.

“Mother…” Saerlund said, worried and she reached out, indicating she wanted a hug. Both looked at each other, wary before they leaned in and she forced them down, hugging them tight making Harrald grunt and Saerlund squirm.

“Oh, my boys,” she nearly cried. “My sweet boys.”

“Mum! You’re being embarrassing!” Harrald hissed, trying to pull away but she held him by the neck tight. Saerlund hugged her back, a bit stiff as he did before he spoke next to her.

“It’s the anniversary of father’s death, isn’t it?” he asked and Harrald stopped trying to pull back. She continued to hold them, not speaking a word. “That’s why you’re in those clothes, isn’t it?”

She nodded, letting out one long sob. “My boys…” she said, burying her face in each of their necks for a moment to really hug them like they were ten years old again. “Your father would have been so proud to see how you’ve grown.”

“Mum…” Harrald said, no longer resisting. She felt him slap Saerlund’s hand around her back, the two scuffling as he tried to get closer and she furrowed her brows.

“Boys-!” she warned and they stopped. They were just like little children and she shook her head, the thoughts overwhelming her. She missed her husband and she missed when her boys were still bright eyed children, constantly striving for her affection and attention. They seemed so distant and she let them go only to touch their face, cupping Harrald’s for a minute making him frown.

“Oh, my Harrald,” she said, patting his cheek. “How you’ve grown up so fast.”

“Mum,” he said, embarrassed but she ignored him, turning to Saerlund.

“And Saerlund. My boy,” she touched his face and he gave her a sad look. She wanted to say something as well but nothing came. He looked so much like his father and it just made his treason harder to deal with. She patted him making him look down, a bit hurt but she tried not to dwell on it. She instead pulled off her amulet of Talos, looking to it in her hands.

“Both of you are growing up so fast,” she said, putting her amulet back on after a moment. “Soon, you’ll both be leaving the Keep and getting your own heirs.”

She expected some sort of response but when she looked to them, Harrald shifted uncomfortably and Saerlund looked embarrassed. She frowned.

“Boys?”

“Yes mother,” the said in tune and she frowned. It was the same tone they both used when they told her what she wanted and she was about to question when Harrald sighed, smoothing down his furs.

“Mother, I have to go check on the guards,” he said. “I can’t stay up here all day.”

She frowned deeply at him making his cheeks turn red.

“L-Look, I’ll go see father’s grave later, okay? I promise,” he looked to her. “Just… please don’t cry anymore.”

She sighed, reaching to rub her eyes. “I’m sorry, my little cub,” she said making him cringe a bit. “This is a very emotional day for me.”

“I’ll go see father too,” Saerlund said making her look to him. He flushed a bit. “I-I’ll… I’ll clean his grave if it needs it.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said and he nodded, still a bit hurt but he didn’t say any more and neither did she. She hoped if he went, maybe her dear could reach from aetherius to push some sense into him. That would be the blessing of a lifetime.

Harrald moved, leaning down to kiss her head making her turn back. “I’ve got to go, Mum,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

She squeezed his arm, letting him leave and he purposely slammed into his brother as he did making him glare at his back. She let out a sigh but was too tired to call her eldest back. She instead began pulling off her gloves, dropping them on the corner of her bed while Saerlund turned back to her.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Saerlund?” she said and he frowned, looking at her without moving. It made her pause, her eyes meeting his and he looked as if he wanted to say something – something she probably didn’t want to hear – before he lost his nerve and he let out a long sigh. He moved, kissing her forehead too.

“I’m sure Pa misses you too,” he said and she gave him a small smile. He went to leave, closing her doors behind him and she let out a sigh. She knew he did miss her. After all, she wouldn’t have been aching if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

She pulled on her proper robes, pulling back her hair as she did and she moved to her smouldering fireplace, scraping away the ashes with the iron shovel she had. Once it was clear she reached in, tugging on the loose stone. Inside was the stone box and she pulled it out, sliding off the lid to reveal her husband’s refined robes.

She inhaled, holding it tight to herself, her entire body shaking in sadness for a moment as she did. She missed him greatly. She doubted she would ever stop longing to see him again. But he was in Sovngarde, waiting for the day she would join him and she tucked his robes away, pushing the stone box back into place before she hid it once more. Every year it got harder. Every year she wanted to see him more but she knew he would not want to see her like that. They had two sons that needed some sense and a Hold that needed to stay strong for Ulfric and the Stormcloaks.

She joined her court a little late but they didn’t seem to mind. Anuriel was passing around the jar of honey when she approached and her steward stood.

“Lady Lalia, good morning,” she said.

“Morning, Anuriel.”

“Would you like some freshly baked rolls?” she asked. “They came from the ovens not too long ago.”

“Yes, I think I would,” she replied, taking her husband’s seat at the head of the table, her eyes moving to Unmid who nodded to her in respect. She nodded back. Mourning time was over. Now, she needed to continue her day. Though she would not stop to frequently think of her husband that day, she needed to focus on what was important. After all, she was a Jarl.

She looked to Anuriel who was splitting a few of the rolls. “Anuriel. What are the reports these days of the Thieves Guild? Are their numbers dwindling?”

Her steward paused, thinking for a moment. “I believe so, Milady. After all, with winter coming, most will see holding out in their little rat nest is futile. Come spring, I doubt they will be a problem.”

“Excellent,” she said, feeling better at the good news. “I’m glad something is going well in this city.”

“It’s all thanks to you and your leadership, Milady.”

She smiled at that, taking a roll. “No, we should be thanking my husband as well,” she said. “He was the one who fixed up this city before he died. We should give praise to him.”

“Then let us,” Anuriel said in her usual cheerful tone. She picked up her tankard. “To Jarl Haren. Who has started us on our fortune.”

She picked up her tankard, the rest of her court doing as well save for Wylandriah who was wandering around her shop, muttering to herself and she couldn’t help but stand up before she toasted. The rest did as she did, holding their tankards high.

“To my husband,” Laila said with pride.

“To Jarl Haren,” her court replied and the mead went down as smooth as it had done the first day she and him had ever met.


	9. Carvings of the Past (Ondolemar & Jarl Igmund)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a stupid misfire I filled...
> 
> Misfire in Question:
> 
> U R A............BADASS

"Ondolemar! Where is he?! Ondolemar!" his name was being shouted down the hall and the Thalmor Agent lowered his book, irritated, the cup of tea in his hand being delicately placed down on the stone table where it was sure to get cold. He looked to his soldiers who had stopped their meal, eyes on him and he sighed.

"Wait here," he said as he got up, wandering out of their quarters to come and see the Jarl of Markarth who was angrily standing by his throne, his housecarl and steward beside him looking at the arm. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and crossed his arms. "Yes?"

"What is this?" the Jarl demanded and he stared at him.

"What is what?" he said and the Jarl pointed at the arm of his throne as if he was banishing it. Ondolemar sighed and walked up the stairs, looking to what the fuss was about. In the arm of the throne was something carved deep.

'U R A....... BADASS'

He stared at it. What the fuck was that? He turned to the Jarl who was staring at him as if he should know and he stared back. "If you're entertaining the idea that I did that, don't. I don't write like a lame goat, let alone have the ability to carve into stone."

"Who did this?" he demanded and Ondolemar scoffed.

"How should I know?!"

"You're always up," Faleen pointed out making him turn to her. "Surely you would know since you never stop marching up and down the halls."

"That's because I can't sleep," he sneered. "Your stupid stone beds see fit to that."

"So you admit to being up? Who did this then!?" the Jarl demanded again and he stared at him, getting irritated himself.

"I said I don't know!"

"Well then, who would?! Aren't you a master investigator? Find out who did this!?" Igmund nearly exploded and Ondolemar stared down at him, his tongue pressing against his cheek. All eyes were on him and he straightened his robes.

"Fine," he muttered, turning to leave. He pushed past the guards gawking from outside and made his way back to his room, grabbing his tea to take a delicate sip, his blood boiling. His soldiers waited, quiet, for any word.

"Who is the most disliked man in Markarth?" he asked and his soldiers said nothing.

"Probably Thonar Silver-Blood," the female soldier said and he nodded. Yes, he would do.

"Good. Well, the Jarl has his panties in a bunch over someone carving into the throne's arm. Say it was Thonar and we'll call it a day," he said with a shrug, grabbing his book to settle back down. The two soldiers exchanged a look but they smiled and went back to eating. Ondolemar sighed and leaned back in his cold stone chair. "I hate this fucking place."


	10. Checkerboard (Elisif/Rulindil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a legit misfire. All it said was:
> 
> FUCK YES.
> 
> Like, yeah, I sort of jumped on that. Thought of a crackpair that I could put in the Embassy because I think it would be way too hilarious for a bunch of fucking powerful Jarls and people to hear two people upstairs and lo and behold, I fucking ship that now fml.

"FUCK YES!" a loud cry came causing the First Emissary Elenwen to pause and General Tullius to lower his glass across from her.

"What was that?" he said and before she could answer there was a loud banging noise from above causing some of the party goers to look up before there was an onslaught of the same curse being repeated over and over, a bit of dust falling from the ceiling.

She found herself looking up briefly as well before her eyes moved and she counted the guests. She was missing someone. Someone who was going to have their skinned flayed off if they were doing what she was thinking.

"Ondolemar!" she called and her senior Justiciar swept to her side, his glass half filled with wine but his eyes were still sharp. "Go see what that racket is and deal with it accordingly."

"Yes, my Lady," he bowed and he disappeared leaving the guests around her to remain silent, the air awkward before the banging stopped. She let out a sigh and turned back to General Tullius though his eyes were still on the ceiling.

"As you were saying, General?"

"I asked what that was," he said making her press her lips together. "Ambassador? I thought you said your Embassy was locked down. Impenetrable."

"It is," she said in a hard tone when beside her one of the new Imperial Jarls smirked and began to speak.

"No one said someone's got in, General," Maven Black-Briar raised a brow as she took a sip of her wine causing the Jarl of Falkreath to smirk beside her. "I think the real question here is, who is missing?"

"Who is missing?" Vittoria Vici asked and she looked around frantically before her shoulders fell. "Well, Erikur is still here. Guess we can rule out him being disgusting upstairs."

"Excuse me? Did someone call for a bitch?" he replied, pretending not to see her. "Because all I hear is the barking from a loudmouth dog!"

"Asshole!" she shot back and Jarl Balgruuf spoke above them.

"Where's Jarl Elisif?"

There was a silence and Elenwen found herself pressing her tongue against her cheek. She looked to General Tullius who suddenly took on a disturbed look and she had to leave, fluttering past her guards who held the door open and she took the stairs two at a time, moving to the bedrooms she knew were aligned with the Hall. Sure enough, she found Ondolemar and he was leaning against doorframe smirking when she came to him.

She looked to him and he merely held his hand out, indicating she could go inside and she stepped in, staring at the Future High Queen of Skyrim along with her companion.

"Rulindil," she spat. "What are you doing?!"

Her Interrogator straightened himself a bit, his black eyes meeting hers.

"Nothing, my Lady."

She turned to Elisif who was flushed and she looked between them both before frantically speaking. "We weren't doing anything. I was feeling ill and I came across your Justiciar who kindly helped me."

She stared at them both before she went to Ondolemar. "Ondolemar, what-" 

"Oh, you don't want to know, my dear Lady," he smiled. "But let's just say... the Future Queen is very flexible."

She stared at him in horror and he merely chuckled and looked away.

\--


	11. Divines (Various)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: Tell me about either your dragonborn's religions or a (less popular) NPC's! Are they a hardcore Mara supporter? Do they think Dibella is just divine? Or are they subscribed to Namira's All-you-can-eat Buffet!
> 
>  
> 
> Ho hum.

Zenithar

 

He wore a heavy cloak over his clothes, using the hood to shroud his face as he made his way through the streets of Solitude. He hated the city, absolutely hated it, but it had one thing he was grateful for. The Temple of the Divines. He kept his head low as he walked towards it trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. It had been a long time since he had been there.

It was nearing the end of the year and he hadn’t paid his dues yet to ensure he was still in good with the gods. Elisif had called for a meeting and he was forced to attend lest he lose his title – damn bitch – but while they waited for the new Jarls to arrive he took the downtime to slip away to honor it before he went back. He did wonder if his money wasn’t just taken by the priests of the temple. They were always way too cheerful to anyone who came in as if they were happy their pockets were being lined but he assumed it was the thought that counted. Besides, the shrines scattered around Skyrim were looted almost every day. What was the point of giving to those?

He made his way into the courtyard where only a few people were and he pulled his cloak around him more, not wanting to be seen. He slipped into the temple, the heavy wooden doors falling shut behind him and he stepped quietly on the stones, making sure not to alert the damn priests who were scattered about.

Thank the Divines there was no one in front of the shrines save for some young girls putting some money into Mara’s due box. He rolled his eyes. They had just wasted their money.

He waited until they stepped away before he came forward, pulling out a few coins to put in the boxes. He put one into Mara’s, still annoyed at how people really believed she would help their damn marriages and love and all that crap and the others got two to three. It was only when he came to Zenithar’s did he stop and fish out a larger bag.

The god had blessed him this year with a good amount of coin running through his Hold. He poured the contents of one bag into the box, the sounds of the coins clicking together making him do so in a more hurried fashion lest it alert anyone but no one came and he was still alone in front of the shrine once he was done. He remained in front of it, staring at the carved steel, the gold inlay that had been set with skill and he looked over his shoulder before he closed his eyes.

He silently asked for another good year. For the coin to keep flowing to him and for his business partners to grant him more for he deserved it.

Once he was done he moved to leave but felt a few more coins in his pocket. Leftovers to spend. He sighed and looked at the eight shrines, each illuminated by light and surrounded by candles and he pulled out the few septims.

He put them in Dibella’s box. Maybe she would grant him more skill in the art of speech. Or a good fuck. He could really do with one considering it had been about a month since he had gotten anything.

“Come to worship the divines?” a voice said behind him and he flushed in anger, shoving the coins down before he pulled his cloak around his body.

“No.”

“Really?” the priest asked. “The divines bless those-” 

“I don’t care,” he snapped, shoving the priest out of his way. “Leave me alone.”

“Sir, you don’t have to be rude!”

He nearly turned to shout at him he was a damn Jarl but he held his tongue, moving just to leave. He paid his dues, did his prayer and he would be fine for another year in Falkreath. He didn’t need a damn lecture.

When he got back to the blue palace and stripped of his cloak, Elisif came to find him, her arms crossed which put him in a mood. “What do you want?”

“Siddgeir, if you’re going to leave, inform me,” she said in a cold tone. “My guards spent nearly an hour looking for you.”

He nearly laughed. “You sent the guards to do that? No wonder Tullius tells you what to do if you make stupid decisions like that all the time.”

She was on him in an instant. “Listen, you brat. I don’t care if an assassin comes and slices your throat out in your Hold but while you are in mine you will inform me of what you do, understand?”

He rolled his eyes. “Intimidation isn’t you, Elisif. Try something else.”

“I’m warning you, Siddgeir. I will rip that crown off your head if you keep this up!”

He glared at her. Now she was really starting to really piss him off. “Touch me and you will lose a hand.”

“You will lose your head in a second if you don’t damn well smarten up!” she spat back and for a second he honestly considered throwing a punch. She almost threatened him to do it, her look haughty and her nose rising as if she was looking down at him making his teeth grit painfully but he held himself back. He just paid the divines off. Though he wondered if the punch would be worth the extra septims in Kynareth’s box.

“Hey!” a voice cut in making them both jerk their heads up, stances still tense. “Are we going to start this?” Balgruuf called down at them. “Or is this just going to become a pissing contest between you two while we waste our time waiting.”

Elisif clenched her fists. “No. We’re beginning. Now.” She looked down to glare at him and he gave her a dark look back before she went to the steps. Though on her way up she nearly tripped and fell which made him smile.

At least the gods rewarded him with something for his dues.

\--

 

Stendarr

 

"Hey," Enthir said from the door making him look up, the runes he had drawn on his paper smudging when his hand moved by accident. He cursed, grabbing a cloth to dab at the smeared lines but it was pointless once a heavy robe was thrown over it.

He glared at his friend. "Must you really disturb me when I'm working?"

"Here I thought you would be happy," he said, walking in to fall into the seat parallel to him. "Just got those sold to me. Thought you might want them."

He set down his quill and slowly picked the robes up, studying them for a moment before he stood and let them fall down, revealing what they were. He pursed his lips.

"These are Vigilant of Stendarr's robes," he said and when Enthir didn't answer he looked back at him. "Enthir."

"What?"

"Who gave these to you?"

The wood elf wrinkled his nose, giving him a displeased look. "You know I don't discuss my clients, Nelacar. Do you want them or not?"

He threw them back at him. "I don't want a dead mage's robes."

"Dead? Who said dead!?" Enthir cut back. "I said I was sold them! I didn't say it was from a dead body!"

He stared at him, unsure if he was being sarcastic or naive. "Enthir, no Vigilant sells his robes. They had to have come off a dead body."

"What if the person who sold them to me lost his faith and wanted to get rid of them?"

"Unlikely," he said back, turning his paper over to start sketching out another rune.

"Unlikely? What, you've never lost your faith?"

He glared at him. "Vigilants are not ones who lose faith easily. We are vigilants until we die."

"So then where's your robes?" Enthir cut back and he flushed, giving him an angry look but he didn't back down. "You sold them, didn't you?"

"I... I had no choice," he said. "It was either die in the blast of Red Mountain or get on a boat!"

"See?"

"Enthir," he snapped. "That was life or death. Those robes-"

"Could be from someone with the same situation," he interrupted. "He didn't sell his amulet, just like you always have yours. He only sold his robes. No blood on them. No stains. Just like they were new."

He pressed his lips together thin making the wood elf smirk. He moved, standing beside the table, holding the robes and he glared at them, feeling that emotion he had stuffed away deep inside long ago when he first parted with his robes.

"Do you want them?"

His hand shook as it held his quill.

"...No."

\--

 

Julianos

 

"You worship Julianos?" he asked and she looked over her shoulder for a brief moment as she finished off the leek on her plate.

"Yes, Savos. Is there a problem with that?"

"Of course not," he said as he placed the book back into her bookshelf. "I just never figured you were very religious, Mirabelle."

She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable at the way he worded his sentence. "I may not wear priest robes and chant every day, Savos, but I can assure you I am still as religious as the next person who follows Julianos." She said. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't make it sound like having faith is a bad thing."

"A bad thing? Mirabelle, you misunderstand me-"

She was up. "Forget it, Savos. Let's just drop it. Besides, shouldn't you be in the Hall of Elements? The students are starting soon and if you want to observe them you better get there quick."

"What? Oh, right," he said almost absentmindedly and he left making her sigh in relief as she went to her bookshelf and straightened her volumes. Once she heard the door slam she found herself staring at her small library. Every book she had was filled with notes and theories on magic and reasoning, including ones on Julianos and his relationship to it.

She reached up and opened the book, pulling out the amulet that she kept with it, the metal a bit dull but the inscription on it was still legible.

She read it over and over, her grip getting tighter as she found tears welling in her eyes but she stopped herself and put the amulet back, sliding it into place and correcting it so it looked like it had never moved.

She hadn’t thought of her family in years and her memory of them was starting to fade. Her mother giving her the amulet yet all she could remember was her hands, not her face. Her father’s voice which she could no longer recall telling her to be safe in Skyrim while his green tunic frayed at the collar. All she could remember was insignificant things, things that didn’t matter and she was wiping her eyes when Ancano came in.

He gave her a look and she quickly recovered, glaring at him. “Something you want?”

He studied her for a moment making her flush, feeling self-conscious when he finally spoke. “Your little cat mage is stealing from me again.”

She nearly let out a breath of exasperation. “Ancano, we have been over this. J’zargo has not stolen anything from you and your profiling of him is offensive. If you cannot remember where you place things-”

“Remember?” he cut in. “Do I look like I have a problem remembering things?”

For some reason his words hit her deep and she stared at him, angrier beyond belief as the tears came back up and he looked horrified as she had to turn covering her face for a second.

“…Mirabelle, are you-”

“Leave!” she shouted in an angry voice. “Before you go missing!”

She heard him make a ‘tch’, his robes being straightened but he left and she stood in her room, pressing her hands against her eyes. Sometimes she wished she could just drop everything and run back to High Rock and find them or anyone just to know if they were okay but she knew she was being silly.

She went back and grabbed the amulet, reading it again. Just to try and remember. Just to recall her parents once more.

“Believe in Julianos… for we will meet again through him.”

\--

 

Dibella

 

Thyrnn was the first to laugh.

"You worship Dibella? Oh, that's rich."

He nearly turned purple. "So what if I do!?" he snapped as some of the other guild members began to chuckle, save for Sapphire who rolled her eyes. "Dibellan worship is like no other! It fulfills every part of you!"

"Alright, Vipir," Delvin said a few tables down. "We've all heard about that from Haelga. No need to bring it here. This is a safe place where only coin should be worshipped."

Karliah looked to him. "...Nocturnal is our mistress."

Delvin frowned, looking to the Nightingale who was giving him a rather pained look and he stared into his tankard, flushing.

"Alright, Nocturnal and coin is what we worship here. Nothing else. So, take Dibella somewhere else unless she's got a lot of coin to spread."

He turned an even deeper shade of red. "I wasn't preaching! I was asked and I answered! I worship Dibella! And I'm not ashamed of it!"

"I would be," Dirge said when Niruin cut in.

"I thought only women were allowed to worship Dibella?"

"That would explain a few things about Vipir," Vex said making a few of the members burst out laughing and he threw his tankard down and left, fed up with the jests he was getting. He went back to the Cistern, grabbing his bow from his chest and he left to shoot some rounds off in the quiet training area, his mind clouded with anger and his aim suffering for it.

He heard footsteps but he didn't stop, shooting the iron arrows one after the other, his eyes nearly clouded with rage. He was reloading when a figure came in but he didn’t stop, not looking to see who it was.

He shot off three more in a row before his visitor spoke. “I worship Dibella too.”

He stopped and turned, flushing. “You don’t have to pretend to just to make me feel better, Etienne.”

He frowned at him. “I’m not, Vipir. I really do. I worship Dibella and Mara.”

He reloaded his bow but didn’t shoot. “Oh yeah? Why.”

“I believe in love,” he said making him look at him. He was flushing a deep red and his eyes were down. “I know that’s unpopular here, so I just keep quiet about it.”

“…Yeah,” he finally said back. “Yeah, it is.”

The two remained silent, the air in the room turning awkward before Etienne moved to leave. “Right, uh. Anyways. I guess I’ll get back.”

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, sure.”

He nodded, stepping back. “But, you know. At least there’s someone else in the Guild who is with you.”

That actually made him smile and before he left completely he called his name. “Etienne?”

“Yes?”

“…Thanks.”

He smiled at him making him smile back and after he had left, he raised his bow up and shot at the target once more. This time, his aim was true and he relaxed, grinning to himself. He pulled out another arrow and lined up his next shot.


	12. Fairness and Cruelty (Jarl Siddgeir Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt as Follows: So, after the civil war settles and the Jarls of the losing side are stuck in Windhelm/Solitude, they get bored. Obviously sitting around all day isn't fun. So, they decide to take up a job so that they just can get out.
> 
> This fanfic is really just an excuse to destroy certain NPCs. This is also technically 'Unfinished' but it does sort of work with no ending.

“This is fucking humiliating,” he muttered, his eyes cast down as he was marched through the streets, the sounds of mixed reactions echoing around them. Some people cheered but most seemed to be nervous and silent on the show. The soldiers, on the other hand, loudly were revealing in their victory. Jeers and congratulations to each other could be heard clearly but he chose not to dwell on it. From behind him he could almost feel the anger of his fellow Jarls and their stewards, a grumbling coming from under their breath. His steward beside him said nothing, her eyes down and her expression mournful and he quickly stole a glance to her.

“Nenya,” he said quietly to get her attention. She didn’t acknowledge him and he pressed his lips thin in irritation. He did understand. After all, this shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. And he swore if he ever saw that fucking dragonborn again, he would tear their heart from their chest.

He did have it easy, he supposed. After all, his hold wasn’t taken through bloodshed like Hjaalmarch and Whiterun, where the marsh and the rivers ran red for more than three days. But his was more humiliating than the rest. Having his uncle march into his damned longhouse, flanked by Stormcloaks, and his crown taken from him. He shook in anger at the feeling, his cheeks growing hot. His uncle’s laughter over his Hold being taken at a summit meeting was something he would never forgive. He damn well almost called the Dark Brotherhood over it. After all, that man was no kin to him and he was a disgrace sharing his blood.

But again, unlike Balgruuf who was beaten in front of his court and children - something he still wished he witnessed, and Idgrod who was ordered out by Galmar Stonefistfuck or whatever himself, and Igmund who was subjected to his own guards jeering at him for the Silver-Bloods, he did get off easy. After all, none of the idiots in Falkreath came to watch him and Nenya get expelled save for his father who he disowned as such. He was allowed to leave on his horse and travel without an army at his neck. But then again, the humiliation burned him up when he remembered it.

In the end, it was no use. Ulfric Stormcloak, the fucking smug bastard himself, won. He got what he wanted. He got the crown. And now he was stuck to sit in a basement with a bunch of idiots for what would probably become the rest of his life. Though, he still got Black-Briar mead so… maybe it wasn’t all bad. But without the freedom to enjoy it whenever he wanted it did taste rather bitter than how sweet it normally was.

He looked to Nenya again, his steward having become depressed and mournful over the entire thing. She still appeared to be lost in her depression and his cheek twitched before he let out a sigh. There was no point dwelling over their loss now. After all, he was pretty sure the march they were on was their end anyways. They might as well accept it, though he doubted his steward wanted to hear that.

All of the former Jarls and their stewards had been roused in the morning. The housecarls were ordered to stay put and they were lined by Stormcloak soldiers, most who had taken part in destroying most of Solitude. They marched in a line from the Blue Palace with the bastards at their sides with their weapons polished and marches like that could only mean one thing: Execution.

He sighed, still looking at the ground as he walked, the ground now sloping up. He did have one regret in life, he supposed. He really regretted not bashing his damn uncle’s head in that night he had the fucking chance. And also, killing the dragonborn, if he was given the opportunity. Fucking pricks deserved to be taken down with him.

The line in front of him stopped making him do so once they passed through a gate, his head finally raising and they were in the courtyard of Castle Dour. He could see a wave of blue-colored soldiers in every direction, some even watching from the walls above and he found himself gritting his teeth in defiance. It didn’t last long as the bastard who was humiliating the former Imperial Jarls took a stance in front of them all. He was wearing some sort of ceremonial uniform, as if he even deserved such a thing and the soldiers exploded into cheers and hollering at his presence. It was sick to watch.

“Soldiers. Comrades. War heroes,” Ulfric Stormcloak started, his hand being raised to settle them. “I present to you what is left of the Empire that tried to sink Skyrim. The one that bowed to the Thalmor, the one that denied Talos his right and killed our kin for their cause. The ones who barely deserve to call themselves Nords.”

His hand swept to the line of soldiers and they moved, shoving him in the back making him stagger and hiss and he was pushed forward, now in a line, with the other Jarls and stewards at his side. Nenya was to his right and a very pissed off Balgruuf was to his left. He glanced behind him and saw past his Imperial steward Idgrod standing perfectly still, the damn woman’s eyes cold but her head was raised as if she was looking down at Ulfric. He had to smile. That old bat had guts. Luckily for her, or for Ulfric, he didn’t seem to notice.

From around them, soldiers began to jeer. He heard insults hurled at them, someone even throwing a bottle of ale. Imperial Whores. Lifeless dogs. Milk-drinkers. Thalmor lovers. Oblivion take them. Talos smite them. He rolled his eyes. Gods, this is why he hated peasants and commoners. He never understood how his kin could always be so bloody barbaric and ill-mannered. They were like a bunch of trolls gnashing their teeth. Although, the insult hurled at Elisif over how much she spread herself for the Thalmor and Tullius was sort of funny. Her reaction alone - her face went completely red - was worth it.

Ulfric let them get out their aggression and his second in command came beside him, nudging him to whisper something. He swore those two probably fucked, the way they leaned into each other to talk. He wanted to tell Nenya but when he looked to her, her skin was pale and her eyes were fighting back tears so he decided not to. She was upset and he sighed, looking away. There was no point in her being so but then again, they were all probably going to have their heads cut off. It was probably upsetting her more than the soldiers acting out.

Ulfric finally nodded to Galmar and turned to the crowd, raising his hand again to silence them. They all listened like trained mongrels and the voices died down. 

“Yes, my fellow warriors. Your reactions are the same as mine the first time I laid eyes upon the men and women who thought Skyrim was weak and needed the Empire to protect it. Who ruled over our kin – farmers and labourers and worshippers just like us who needed guidance and strength. And what did they do? They silenced them. Took away the gods. Encouraged the Legion to come. Imperials to come into our land! And act as if they knew strength, loyalty, and honor above us! Us Nords who have ruled this land since the beginning! Well no more!”

“Windbag,” Siddgeir heard Balgruuf mutter from beside him and he tried not to smile a bit. The soldiers went into cheers again over his speech, another bottle of ale being thrown that got too close to Igmund for his comfort. His uncle jumped in shock and shook his head, looking wearily to the crowd but Ulfric did not discourage it.

It was starting to get tiresome. Siddgeir hated listening to speeches in the first place and he was starting to wonder if the point of dragging them there was so they were subjected to his damn yapping when a voice broke over them from on top of the wall.

“We should kill them!” one soldier yelled and every one of the former Jarls tensed at once. Siddgeir looked into the crowd of soldiers, one drawing his blade and his blood began to run cold when Ulfric interrupted. He could take a headman’s axe but not a damn idiot’s rusty blade.

“No,” he said to the shock of the people and, quite frankly, the other Jarls. Wasn’t that the point of why they were in the Castle Dour courtyard? “No, we will not slay our kin like the Empire does. We are not animals who turn on their brothers and sisters to devour them. They will remain alive and as a reminder to what Skyrim is. We are a place of freedom, no longer bound by the shackles of the Empire, where worship of Talos is rightfully allowed and the skies are free. They shall forever hold the burden of shame for placing their loyalty to a behemoth that cannot sustain itself.”

“Are you kidding?” Balgruuf hissed from beside Siddgeir and he turned to look at him but the other Jarl didn’t notice. He crossed his arms, his teeth clenched tight and he would have laughed since seeing Balgruuf get angry always did amuse him but on that day, he was starting to feel the same. “That damned bastard. He should just kill us!”

Siddgeir narrowed his eyes at him. That feeling he had of understanding Balgruuf’s anger left and he was left with his own rising. They weren’t going to die. Why did this idiot want that? 

“Why?” he said from beside him making Balgruuf turn in surprise, not aware his anger was being spoken aloud. “We get to fucking live. And you’re pissed?”

Balgruuf’s eyes narrowed back, as if imitating him. “You want to live forever as a prisoner?” he said in a cold tone which made him glare at him in anger. “You may be fine being caged and living a lazy, worthless life, but I’m not.”

“Fuck you, Balgruuf,” he said back, looking away from him as he could feel his hands beginning to shake from the overwhelming desire to hit him in the face. How fucking dare he. This wasn’t about living in a cage. This was a grant that they could live and he could have more fucking time. After all, who ever said Ulfric and Skyrim would last. 

He changed his tactic, though, out of spite. “Go fucking tell Ulfric you want to die. I’d love to see your head roll.”

Balgruuf shot him a look and he gave him one back.

“Watch your tongue, Siddgeir,” his former ally warned. He nearly bared his teeth at him.

“You’re the one who should be fucking silencing himself.”

“Siddgeir,” Nenya said from beside him and he shot her a look. She looked frightened, to say the least, and he stared at her but she didn’t dare turn her head. Her tone was enough and although he would have blown up at her normally, her expression was unsettling. He only ever saw the Altmer become terrified twice in his life. Once, when his mother disappeared and the rumor was she was stolen by vampires. And the second… was when his uncle stormed the Longhouse. She had shaken at the sight of the soldiers and their long swords drawn.

He unfolded his arms, touching her elbow and she nearly jumped out of her skin making him shift from her so as not to get hit. She was terrified and he found his anger dying, looking back towards Ulfric instead. Ulfric was looking to them with an almost smug look and he grit his teeth. This was worse than humiliating and he damn well wished he could shove a sword right through the bastard’s throat.

“Even amongst themselves they have no loyalty,” Galmar snorted making him really struggle to hold himself back. Ulfric looked to his companion, almost in agreement, before he looked back out to his soldiers. Some were staring at them and the other Jarls but most were still preoccupied with Ulfric. Like he was in incarnation of Talos himself or something stupid.

“No, they don’t. But they do hold loyalty still to an Empire that believed it could break Skyrim. But it won’t. And from this day forward, it never will,” he said the last part in a louder tone to stir the crowd again. 

“They imposed their laws upon us. They told us what we were to do from the day they set foot here. They wanted to silence us Nords and instead make us Imperials who would bow to witch elves and ignore the very god that created their Empire. But that ends. Skyrim will begin again, not here in Solitude. Not in their hold. But back in the ancient capital.”

Siddgeir frowned. What capital? Solitude has always been the fucking capital.

“That’s why,” he looked to the crowd, his eyes moving to the Jarls and he looked once to Galmar who nodded. “The capital will be moved to Windhelm.”

There was a silence that followed. Siddgeir stared, almost too shocked to think. Windhelm? The wretch of a city that was practically full of snow every month of the year? He almost started laughing out of disbelief but it was Elisif that spoke for them, the damned Jarl of Solitude shaking as she did.

“What?” her voice raised and she took a step forward but the soldiers near her held her back. “Are you insane? You cannot move the capital! Skyrim has always been ruled from here!”

Ulfric’s eyes set on her, almost in an odd way. As if he was pitying her and he moved, walking to come face to face with her. “Elisif… you always were too naive to be rightfully among us.”

She recoiled in anger, her hands shaking as she tried to keep her temper down and he stared deep into her eyes before he looked to the other Jarls, almost as if challenging them to come forth. Idgrod spoke for them, her voice calm but cold.

“Solitude has been the capital for centuries, Ulfric. You have no authority to just pick where the capital should be.”

“If you knew the history of this land better, Idgrod Ravencrone,” he said her full name in an almost mocking tone. “You would know when Ysgramor first came, his empire ruled from Windhelm. Windhelm was meant to be Skyrim’s true capital.”

She barely reacted to his tone, her head rising a bit again to look at him down her nose. “I’m well-versed in the history of this land, Ulfric Stormcloak, son of Ulfgar Stormcloak, who was the son of Hurolf Stormblade. And Solitude was made capital by Tiber Septim’s heirs, to honor him with a grand city, where they would take up his name and rule. You of all people should know that.”

He didn’t break his expression as he stared at her though he let out a small ‘hmph’ in amusement. “Tiber Septim’s heirs. Not Tiber Septim himself. And his grand city does not even hold a proper shrine to him.”

“The Temple of the Divines-”

“Took his shrine away,” Ulfric cut right back. “For an empire that he built, in his city, he does not even have a statue, a bearing, a shrine? Windhelm holds the greatest shrine to Talos. Windhelm has always been the support of this land.”

“Bullshit,” Igmund said immediately but it was ignored.

“Windhelm is Skyrim’s true capital. And my decision is final.” He looked to Elisif, the poor woman still shaking with anger, and he smiled a bit. “You may rule here still, little Elisif. With plenty of men to stick around and see that you properly do so. But Windhelm is where I will reside. Where the Stormcloak Army will continue to be the greatest in numbers. And all of you,” he indicated to the former Jarls who stared at him with a cold gaze. “Will be housed there.”

“What?” Siddgeir spat and he too was ignored.

“Windhelm’s change to the capital marks a new day for Skyrim,” he said, moving back to where Galmar stood with a grin plastered on his face. “Ysgramor’s Palace himself will be the heart. And we will continue with our glory and drive out all Thalmor Agents and Legionnaires from our land. Skyrim is free! And from this day forth, it shall forever be free!”

The words shook the soldiers, making some pound the ends of their weapons on the stone in succession as they cheered and Idgrod raised her hand, rubbing her temples. Balgruuf grit his teeth, Igmund shook his head, and Siddgeir found himself pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He wished they were being executed now. Exiled to Windhelm, the new capital of Skyrim. What a joke.

He looked to Nenya who was still stiff but her expression was no longer filled with terror. He nudged her and she flinched once more but she let out a soft sigh.

“Are you alright?” he muttered, his voice low despite the fact it could barely be heard anyways over the sound of the idiots around them cheering. She swallowed, looking distressed, her fingers folding tight.

“No,” she finally said and he sighed, looking out at the soldiers. Ulfric was once again talking to Galmar and the two grinned before Galmar moved. He went towards Elisif, who didn’t move from her spot and he gave her a long look that made her tense and glare at him.

“Don’t scrunch up your face so much,” he said making her eyes blaze. “You Imperial-loving women hate wrinkles, don’t you? And that’s one way to get them.”

“Fuck you,” she said in a voice filled with seething rage and he laughed at her, moving past to look at the former Jarls and their stewards. They gave him all the same look as Elisif did and he merely smiled at it.

“Take them back, let them gather their meagre possessions, then load them into the carriages at the stables,” he commanded his men. “Bring them all alive to Windhelm. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers behind them yelled and once again they were roughly herded into a line, made to march back down the street towards the Blue Palace. Behind him, Avenicci, Balgruuf’s steward, broke.

“Windhelm? Windhelm?! By the eight, I would have rather they executed us.”

“Avenicci, this isn’t the time,” Balgruuf’s weary voice came. “Though… I agree. Nothing good can come from this.”

Siddgeir frowned at his words, his eyes on the stones as he walked and the closer they got to the Blue Palace, the worse his mood became. He had been to Windhelm once, as a child. He remembered only three things about it. 

It stunk. It was dilapidated. And the only people who lived there had to be mad or were refugees. 

It was a city that should have crumbled into the sea, one that didn’t seem to attract any gold or any prospects and he rubbed the bridge of his nose once more.

“This is fucking humiliating,” he said once again and beside him, Nenya let out a low sigh.

“This isn’t humiliating,” she said in barely a whisper. “This is Oblivion on earth.”

He didn’t disagree.

 

\-------

 

The trip was horrible. He was shoved into a carriage with Idgrod, her husband, and their children who seemed oddly grateful for the move. And he was stuck with them until they arrived which took more time than it should have. With soldiers flanking their back and front, they had nowhere to go and they had to stay in the carriage and suffer. And suffer he greatly did.

“Do you think we’ll get a window to look out?” her youngest asked when they passed Dragonbridge and Idgrod had put her hand on his head, smoothing down his hair almost sympathetically. She said nothing despite how much her son kept looking to her.

“Kid, we’re probably going to be thrown into a dank dungeon to rot,” he couldn’t help but say, his eyes weary and mood less than pleasant. He could see thunderstorms starting to roll in with the afternoon sun and with no cover on the carriage, they would soon be soaked. “We’ll be lucky to ever know the sun again.”

The kid seemed traumatized by his words which made him feel a bit better until Idgrod hit him hard on the back of his head making him spit every curse he ever knew. She gave him a cold look.

“Siddgeir, silence yourself,” she said and he hissed at her.

“Fuck you!” She raised her hand as if to hit him again and he flinched but didn’t back down. “You fucking touch me and your kids will see your life end, you old crow!”

“Siddgeir, cut it out!” Nenya said, grabbing his arm but he shoved her off, his anger being redirected. He turned on his steward who had a stern look on her face but she still looked as miserable as the day they left and he couldn’t take it.

“Fuck you!” he exploded, his anger suddenly hitting a point where he couldn’t control himself. “We’re being carted off to one of the worst Holds in this entire shitfilled province! And for what? We’re not going to be given luxury rooms, we’re not going to be treated well. We are fucking prisoners of war, Ulfric’s trophy collection of the only people in this damn province not stupid enough to suck his dick and we’re probably going to fucking die there! So excuse me for not being positive and full of rainbows and sunshine over this!”

His steward shook a bit, her lips pressing thin and she let go of him, sitting back. She didn’t say anything for a moment before she spoke, her voice wavering a little. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m naive to this? I’m more aware of the situation than you are,” she said, her eyes moving to the scenery as she tried to collect herself. “But your damn attitude isn’t helping. And you need to stop.”

“My attitude?” he snapped. “My attitude? You have been miserable for a week, Nenya. And it’s beginning to get old.”

She whirled on him so fast he actually forgot what he was saying, her eyes locking on his in a cold stare.

“How dare you,” she said in a tone that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “How dare you! I was kicked out of the only home I knew and left the only friends I had!”

“We all did!” he spat back, getting his nerves again. “But do you see all of us sulking in the corner!?”

“You didn’t leave any friends!” she said and he gave her a furious look. Now she was touching on territory he was not comfortable speaking about and he grabbed the carriage bench, his nails digging into the wood.

“I left my fucking mother’s grave, you bitch,” he said in a low, furious tone. “Don’t you dare act like I didn’t leave anything behind.”

“A grave!” she said back, tears welling at her eyes. “That’s all! I lived in Falkreath for over a hundred years, Siddgeir! Unlike you, I cared about everyone there! I left behind living and dead friends. I left behind Helvard. And you have the audacity to lecture me on not being depressed!”

“He was a traitor!” he cut back, his voice beginning to shake with the fury he was feeling in his chest. “You didn’t leave him behind! He left us! For my fucking incompetent uncle!”

“Your uncle ran that Hold better than you,” she cried, the tears beginning to fall. “And I should be back there! But instead I’m here! With you!”

“That’s it!” he spat, almost ready to really start verbally attacking her when he was hit with something. It was something that suddenly made him feel… calm. He paused, completely in a daze. The colors around him turned lighter, the clouds brightened to a creamy white and he sat, staring at them. From beside him, a voice came.

“That’s enough,” it said. “Both of you. Our fate has been written and the more you fight it, the worse it will become.”

He heard Nenya’s choked voice. “You don’t understand-”

“No? I understand more than you. I understand more than anyone else. But if you keep fighting it, you will not survive. And I ask you, is that what you want? Do you think your life is better thrown away than enduring what the gods have presented us? The divines know what they are doing, Nenya of Falkreath. Trust them. And trust that Skyrim will endure.”

He turned his head, the woman who was beside him to his left looked young, her black hair pulled back and he furrowed his brows. Something was wrong with that but somehow he found himself not caring. Like nothing mattered.

“I’m sorry,” Nenya’s voice came. “I just… can’t take this.”

“Have faith, child,” Idgrod said, her hair falling over her shoulder in long, black waves and Siddgeir watched it before his attention drew to the sky again. The clouds were swimming in the air and it was pleasant to watch. He didn’t listen to what else was being said and soon a shuffle took place, where Nenya moved, and the women went to one side while Idgrod’s husband and her son came to sit on the bench Siddgeir was on.

He didn’t respond. In fact, it seemed better that way. He watched them all for a second before he once again looked to the sky and the clouds rolled like waves on a lake.

“How long is he going to be like that?”

“Just enjoy it while it lasts.”

As the colors faded hours later he began to realize what she did. She hit him with a spell of calm and he would have been more furious if not for the fact he felt tired as he came down from the effect. He instead folded his arms, looking at his feet before he turned to watch the landscape slowly going by, the bright colors dragging from where they had been. The sound of the soldiers marching around them with their armor constantly shifting drew him into a lull and he let his mind wander, still in a spell daze though his thoughts were becoming clearer.

It kept going back to one thing as his logic and reasoning slowly formed in his head again. Nenya’s words. He grit his teeth. He wouldn’t forget what she said, not in his lifetime and he damn well wasn’t going to forgive her for it either. His mother had been everything to him. And for her to act like him never being able to see her grave again was nothing cut him deep and he found himself grinding his teeth. 

He reached up, touching the chain he had around his neck, feeling the amulet of Zenithar move against his chest before he let it settle back down and he went back to staring at the dark cluster of trees now thinning on the road. He had never missed placing coins on his mother’s grave. Now that was going to be lost to him forever.

He remained in a mood well into the travel, not looking to the rest of them as he did, even when Idgrod said his name. He refused the food she offered, preferring to starve and he only grew angrier when Idgrod told him to stop his ‘tantrum’. Now he remembered why he hated the fucking Jarl. 

In fact, out of all the damn Jarls, Igmund was the only one he ever tolerated. And that was mostly because all Igmund ever wanted to talk about was killing those psychopaths that lived in his Hold, something he could tolerate talking about.

Idgrod was unbearable. The way she acted like she could mother him always set him off but between them all, Elisif was the worst. That was the only good thing about Windhelm. She wouldn’t be there. And oddly, the thought soothed him. He leaned back a little, letting his eyes fall down and somehow, despite the rattling of the cart and the noises of the soldiers and the smell of rain in the air, he drifted off. In doing so, he found the only way he was going to tolerate the journey - by sleeping. And that’s what he did, well into the night where the carriage still rolled and the men still marched behind them and the rain lightly came. 

They didn’t stop, not even for the soldiers to sleep and by the morning some of them were looking worse than death. A lot of them yawned; some even walked with their eyes closed. But they all continued, past the Hold of Whiterun towards the cursed lands of Eastmarch. 

Siddgeir only opened his eyes once to see where they were and the sight of the cracked earth and smell of sulfur put him right back to closing his eyes. He forced himself to sleep and breathe through his mouth. The sulfur bothered him more than anything and it seemed to affect the rest of them as well. Idgrod’s daughter took out a cloth and wrapped it around her face to breathe in. Her father did the same.

When they were unloaded at Windhelm, they had to stay by the stables and wait for Balgruuf and Igmund’s cart to come as between Rorikstead and Whiterun it dropped back behind them several hundred yards. 

The soldiers mulled around, some talking about war gossip - apparently one of the soldiers wives got pregnant. While he was away. And it was causing a bit of a scandal - while others remained on their guard, constantly looking to the prisoners but Siddgeir wasn’t going anywhere. Despite the fact it was summer in the province, there was still snow on the hills near Windhelm and he looked to it, trying to judge how much was still left but from their position he couldn’t really tell.

He began passing the time by counting the horses in the open padlock beside the stables, judging them on their merit when he saw the owner move out to them. They bunched into a herd, running away from him in a circle and he found himself staring at the lead of the pack. It was fast. Faster than any horse in Skyrim, that was for sure, and he began to wonder if the thing was one of the infamous Black Waterside horses and also to his own horse he had to leave behind when the soldiers began to move.

“Here comes the cart,” one of them said and they were shoved into a group, Siddgeir glaring at the guards but they didn’t seem to care. “By Talos, I can’t wait for this to be over.”

“We’re probably going to be sent marching back to Solitude,” one of them said back. “There’s already enough soldiers here to protect the city.”

“Well, I sure hope not,” the first one muttered. “I’m getting tired of walking.”

“Don’t let the commander hear that.”

The guard snorted but they went silent, waiting as the cart pulled up and the last two former Jarls and their court were forced out, Balgruuf looking exhausted and Igmund cracked his shoulder before he helped his uncle get out. The group was pushed towards them, all of them clumped together, before Galmar Stonefist rode up on his own personal horse. He looked to them and smirked making Balgruuf sneer a bit.

“None of you died,” he said. “Guess I owe Ulfric ten septims.” None of them laughed which he found even funnier. He pointed to his men. “Lead them into the city. Then take them to the Bloodworks and wait for me.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison and once again they were being marched. The stone path that led to Windhelm was longer than Siddgeir remembered but when the city gates were pulled open and they were led inside, he found the city smaller than he initially thought. It took them no time at all to be led to the Palace of the Kings and once again the gates were opened, their line being led inside.

He looked down the Grand Hall but only for a second before they were being pushed towards a door and the bright lights were soon gone. It was a black maze of stairs inside and a few of them stumbled as they were constantly pushed forward until they passed through a guard quarters before more stairs until they met their end.

Four cells in a torture chamber.

“Mum,” Idgrod’s daughter said in a worried tone before she said no more. Siddgeir looked to them, seeing her daughter grab her hand tight and he sighed, looking to the cells. So this was where he was going to spend his days. Gods, he hoped they would be separated as he really didn’t want to sleep beside Balgruuf or Igmund’s ancient as dust uncle.

Galmar came not long after, striding into the room making the soldiers all look to him and the former Jarls begrudgingly do so as well. He smirked before he came before them, crossing his arms.

“These are where you will all stay.”

None of them spoke though Balgruuf’s mouth pressed thin, holding in his opinion.

“You are to sleep here at night. If one of you decides to try and escape, your cellmates will be executed so I strongly advise against it,” he paused. “Unless you really have no loyalty to each other. Then do as you wish. Have your fellow Jarls die while you escape. But the chances of you getting away are slim and I can assure you, you will not get far if you do so anyways.”

He waited but none of them spoke. Siddgeir looked to the door then back at his cell. Where in oblivion would they even go if they did get out? He knew for a fact none of the other Jarls were proficient in sneaking and suddenly he found himself regretting never learning. But again, where would he even go? He’d probably die before he even made it anywhere outside of Eastmarch and the thought alone on how he was trapped there made him miserable again.

Galmar spoke once more. “During the day, if permitted, you may go as far as the Grand Hall. But anywhere else in the palace is off limits. And if you choose to go there, you will be punished.”

Again, no one spoke.

“Any questions?”

“Are you going to feed us?” Igmund said, shocking them. “Or are we to survive off whatever skeevers come in here.”

Galmar smirked. “You will get fed. We treat our prisoners right. Even if you all are traitors to your homeland.”

One of them scoffed. “I wasn’t born here,” a woman’s voice came and Siddgeir looked to who was speaking. Igmund’s housecarl was folding her arms, her eyes coldly set on the Stormcloak commander. “And I certainly wasn’t the one cutting down my own kin just to get a crown. None of us did.”

Galmar set his sights on her, moving to face her front. “Who are you again? The Markarth pitdog was it?”

She grit her teeth at him.

“The woman who only acts when her master bids? The woman who killed that traveler outside Karthwasten who turned out to be innocent? And not in a plot to overthrow your precious master?”

She moved but Igmund caught her. “Fuck you!”

He laughed. “Throw them in their cells,” he said, moving to leave. “And lock the doors. Give them water and food and nothing else. They are not allowed to leave until Ulfric comes.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Hey!” Igmund’s housecarl yelled but the soldiers were moving. One grabbed Siddgeir hard by his arm making him snap at him but he was dragged and thrown into the cell closest to the door, Nenya being shoved in after. They protested, spat curses, but in the end, their doors were locked and they were left alone as Galmar left with his line of Stormcloaks, some of them laughing as they went down the hall but it faded quickly into silence.

“Bastards!” Balgruuf yelled from his cell. “The day Ulfric Stormcloak’s blood soaks the ground is the day Skyrim will be free!”

“My lord-”

“Be quiet, Avenicci,” Balgruuf’s dunmer housecarl said. “He’s right. The day Ulfric Stormcloak dies will be the only day Skyrim is free.” She paused. “Or the day the Aldmeri Dominion comes. And when it does, I won’t bring one sword up in the name of Ulfric!”

“Hear, hear, Irileth!” Balgruuf said, rattling his cage as he did stirring up the others. “The day Ulfric dies will be the day this land is free!”

There was cage rattling, Idgrod’s son crying, and Siddgeir sighed, rubbing his arm before he went towards the corner, falling against it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, becoming irritated at his fellow Jarls yelling and fighting. They sounded like rabid dogs, worse than the soldiers, and he finally snapped when he heard one of the cages screech against the floor.

“Will you all fucking stop!” he yelled, moving to the bars of his prison. “They fucking left! You’re making noise for nothing!”

“Shut up, Siddgeir!” Balgruuf said from beside him making him fume. “I will not be silent and accept the rest of my days in a cage!”

“Well, you fucking were quiet in the fucking basement of the Blue Palace!” he yelled back, grabbing the bars in anger as he leaned against them. “Why is this fucking different?”

“We weren’t in a cage, you fucking stupid brat!”

“We were in a fucking basement with cobwebs and turned over chairs!” he shouted, his face becoming red. “We were fucking nothing you son-of-a-whore! We’re fucking prisoners for real now! That’s the end! So shut the fuck up and accept it!”

The cage rattled. “I always knew you were weaker than us, Siddgeir, but this? This is the last straw. I will continue to resist until the end. Until I am dead on the ground. You can stay in this cage being complacent and lazy until you draw your last breath but I will not submit to Ulfric.”

He gripped the bars so tight his hands turned white. “Then just fucking die already, Balgruuf! And take your misplaced honor with you!” he shouted, his voice shaking with anger as he began to lose it again. 

He was so tired of this shit, so tired of them. He was angry he was in Windhelm, angry Tullius failed, angry the Dominion who played them as allies seemed pleased over them losing. He was pissed at Nenya for not holding him together like she did when he did hold a crown. He was pissed Balgruuf still wouldn’t give up. And he was pissed off in general that this was now his life. He was behind a set of iron bars with straw and a single, old pelt for a bed and his steward was beginning to silently cry in the corner.

He pressed his forehead to the bars, his body shaking as he began reminding Balgruuf of the truth. “We lost. The Empire lost. And even if you fucking got out of here, what would you do? Do you think Cyrodiil cares about us? Do you think the Empire cares we’re prisoners? They don’t fucking care about us! Any of us! And you can rattle your cage like a fucking lunatic all you want but no one will fucking care, Balgruuf!”

He could hear the other Jarl drawing in a slow, uneasy breath.

“No one fucking cares!” he yelled loud enough for it to echo on the walls. “So just… shut the fuck up! Just… fucking stop.”

There was a silence that was left and he found himself sinking down, his back hitting the bars. Idgrod’s son was still sobbing but there was now a tension in the air between them all. Because he was right.

“Balgruuf,” Igmund’s voice came and Siddgeir found himself looking, listening to the Jarl who was locked the furthest away. “You were right.”

“About what?” Balgruuf said in a weary voice.

“Siddgeir always was the weakest out of us all.”

He stared, his teeth clenching, his anger welling but he let it go. He got up, moving to the straw bed where Nenya sat and he began pulling his robes over his head making her look. His undertunic rode up a bit and he pulled it down after but he threw his robes into a heap beside her. He then ran a hand through his hair, went back to the bars and he kicked them as hard as he could.

“You all can fucking die, for all I care,” he spat. “Go tell Ulfric you won’t submit. At least when you’re all gone, it’ll be quiet!”

“Fuck off, Siddgeir,” one of them said but he didn’t care. He went to the straw, kicking some around before he fell onto it making Nenya shift.

“Siddgeir…”

He covered his ears. “Shut up,” he said, his jaw moving as he did and he curled onto his side, trying to drown it all out. The guards came back later, bringing food with them but he didn’t move. He wanted out, in more than one way, and despite the pains in his stomach he refused to eat. He forced himself to sleep, to ignore them all and finally he drifted off hours later into a dark dream. One that made the sweat turn cold on his body and his heart pound in uneven strokes.

He woke up when all of them were quiet, Nenya curled on her side sleeping silently near him and he stared at the dying candles that lit the room. He moved, going to touch the bars, the metal now cold and he pressed his forehead hard against them.

He wasn’t weak.

“Fuck them,” he said softly. “Fuck… them.” He looked towards where their cages lay before he let out a long sigh. When that bastard came to Windhelm, he knew what he was going to do. He was going to ask for an execution. After all, death would be infinitely better than living next to his former Jarls who he now only saw as enemies.

 

 

\-------

 

He refused to talk to them. He refused to talk to Nenya. She tried a few times but he ignored her making her miserable and they sat at opposite ends of their cell, him brooding to himself while she remained in her depressed state. He slept in the corner leaving her the straw to bed in and during the day he took to sleeping. After all, when he did he didn’t have to hear the others routinely complain about their living conditions or how much they were going to get back at the Stormcloaks.

As Galmar said, on the third day Ulfric came and he went down to view them all, standing in the middle of the room to stare at their cages. He got looks of loathing hatred which made him smile.

“I would extend a peaceful hand to you all to come dine in the Grand Hall, but your looks do not exactly show you will be respectful or grateful.”

“Please, fuck off,” Faleen said from Igmund’s cell and Ulfric chuckled at her.

“The Empire always prided itself on how diplomatic it was. But I see that clearly did not extend to any of you.”

“What do you want, Ulfric?” Balgruuf said from his cell as he slowly got up. “To have us submit to you?”

A smile played on his lips. “I am offering you all a proper meal. But I see you would all rather be uncivilized.”

Siddgeir picked at the dirt under his nails from his corner, listening quietly to Ulfric’s offer.

“You have us locked in cages. Who exactly here is the uncivilized one?” Aslfur pointed out from beside Idgrod in their cage. “Your offer sounds more as if you want us to submit to you for a bit of food.”

Ulfric looked to Galmar who smirked at him.

“Told you they wouldn’t go for it,” he said. “You owe me ten septims.”

“Your negativity is beginning to cost me,” he said to him in amusement and Siddgeir found himself staring at the Jarl. They began to move, as if to leave, and he got up, moving to the bars.

“I’ll go,” he said, looking straight at Ulfric. Nenya immediately looked to him in shock and the High King of Skyrim paused, his eyes moving to Siddgeir who remained in his place. “I’ll accept a meal.”

“Siddgeir,” Nenya said but he ignored her and Ulfric walked to his cell, their eyes meeting but he still didn’t move. It was the first time they were ever so close to each other and he realized the bastard was a lot older than he realized. But that wasn’t what mattered. He wanted to go. Not to submit but just to get out of his cell and get away from the others. He was starting to go insane in his corner and he was worried if he wasn’t careful, the daedric prince of madness would soon be in his head.

Ulfric studied him hard, judging him in every way before he looked to Galmar. Galmar didn’t seem impressed.

“What’s your angle, boy?” he said and Siddgeir sneered at him.

“I’m fucking hungry,” he shot back which made the old coot chuckle. Ulfric smirked at his response.

“Let him out,” he finally said, moving to go stand by the door and Siddgeir stepped back, waiting as the Stormcloak came to unlock his cell. He heard movement in the other cells.

“Traitor,” one of them said but he ignored it. He looked back at Nenya for a moment but she showed no sign of moving and he left her, stepping out of the cell. He tucked his hands under his arms, refusing to look back at the other Jarls and the Stormcloak soldier looked to Nenya. She cast her eyes down, indicating she would not follow and they locked the door.

“Shame, Siddgeir,” he heard Idgrod say. “Submitting for a meal… that is low, even for you.”

“Fuck off!” he shouted, his blood boiling as he finally looked back and he wished he hadn’t. They eyes on him were less than friendly and he spat on the ground at them. He was tired of this.

“Come on,” the soldier said, pushing him lightly and he went, following the line up the walk, Ulfric in front with Galmar behind him. He heard them immediately begin to talk once he left, their voices echoing from their cages but he ignored it, merely following the soldiers. For a moment, he did wonder what would happen if he tried to grab and axe from one of them and chop off Ulfric’s head but he doubted he would make it. He was trained in archery and at a long distance, nothing up close that could harm him as he never got the hang of melee combat. Added onto that was the fact he was wearing a loose tunic and trousers. One swing and he’d be cut in half.

He instead followed, his head down as he did until they came to the Grand Hall and he squinted at the sudden influx of light. The walls were covered in the blue Stormcloak banners and beneath him, the braided rug ran almost to the throne. There was food being brought out from what he assumed was the kitchen, a couple men already at the table and Ulfric indicated where he could go.

“Please, take a seat where you would like,” he said in a rather diplomatic tone. He paused, moving, and behind him one of the soldiers trailed. He stopped, looking back at them and Ulfric noticed. “That is your guard. I trust you don’t mind?”

He did but there was no point in telling him. “No,” he said making Ulfric raise a brow. “I don’t care.”

“How unlike you, Siddgeir,” Ulfric said and he shot him a look making him chuckle. “I didn’t think three days in a prison would break you so easily.”

That made him flush in hot embarrassment and the men who were at the table began to look up, obviously listening. He grit his teeth but didn’t show his anger.

“It hasn’t,” he said. “I still want your heart ripped from your chest.”

Galmar laughed at that.

“Then why take my offer?” Ulfric said as he moved to the head of the table and he hung back slightly before he came forward, his eyes moving to the venison roasts swimming in thick broth. He felt his stomach ache.

“Because I’m a fucking Jarl,” he said. “And I deserve the best food.”

“Were a Jarl,” Ulfric corrected.

“I will always be a Jarl,” he sneered at him and Ulfric smiled at his tone. The High King then looked to the other guests, sweeping a hand at him before to them.

“Jorleif, Yrsarald, Lonely-Gale… this is Siddgeir. From Falkreath. He has agreed to dine with us.”

The Stormcloak commander rolled his eyes making Siddgeir flush but the other two looked to him. The one in red smiled which took him off guard. “Good to see a man who is willing to accept his circumstances. Welcome, friend. Take a seat and have some drink.”

He didn’t move at first, shifting in place, before he slowly took a seat, bringing his arms down. “Thanks,” he muttered and he looked at the table, avoiding their eyes. They all seemed to wait on him and he took a cut loaf of bread, pulling at it to make chunks and he focused on it as he began to eat.

The other man spoke. “Want some stew? Sifnar may not look like a typical cook but he can make the best meals in all of Tamriel.”

It took him a moment to realize he was being addressed and he shrugged. “Alright,” he said, trying not to make it obvious how much he did in fact want it and he was given a bowl. He had to restrain himself from damn well just inhaling it as the smell alone made his mouth water but he eventually took the bowl and drank. It made his stomach ache from finally accepting a hearty, nourishing meal and he damn well struggled to eat in a reasonable time.

The guests looked to him in amusement and Ulfric smirked as if he won a victory but he didn’t give them the satisfaction. He took his time, despite the fact he didn’t want to but as soon as their focus went off of him, he swallowed a chunk of meat whole, not caring how it caught in his throat.

“So, Ulfric, now that you are High King, will you be absent from here more?” The one called Lonely-Gale asked. Ulfric cut himself some bread, using it to sop up some of his soup and he contemplated the question.

“I will. The war has left Skyrim vulnerable and we must get our troops in order. No doubt the witch-elves will see us as weak and open to be taken but we will drive them back. But in order to do so, our troops need to be trained,” he said. He looked to Siddgeir who pulled off a chunk of bread to eat and when he looked back to the Captain, he stuffed another cube of venison into his mouth from the stew.

It was beginning to hurt his stomach but he didn’t care. He carefully alternated between bread and the bowl in front of him, the meat melting in his mouth and when he finished he was given a bottle of mead. It tasted like shit but he didn’t care and he washed the venison from his mouth.

If he was to ever have a last meal, he wanted it to be that. The thought reminded him of his initial thought and he looked to Ulfric, wondering how he would approach him on executing him but he waved it off. Whatever. If things got bad again, he would ask. But for now, the fact that he was upstairs eating a meal and listening to mindless chatter about winter winds and troops instead of how to escape a cage, he would take it.

When the Stormcloak Commander grabbed another bowl of stew, he did the same making Ulfric chuckle and he turned red.

“Hungry?” he said and Siddgeir pressed his mouth thin.

“No,” he said in a steady tone. “Your cook is just that good.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” he said and Siddgeir rolled his eyes before he dug in. “A Falkreathian thinks his food is good.”

“Whatever,” he said making him chuckle. He was left alone and he savored what he had again, his stomach becoming heavy but it was better than the pain from before.

When the meal ended he was made to get up and wait as Ulfric finished. Once he was done, he stood and looked to him making him stare, uneasy.

“Thank you for not acting up during our meal,” he said in an almost mocking tone. Siddgeir said nothing though there were things he wished he could say. “You are welcome tomorrow to join us again.”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

Ulfric looked to Galmar who poured himself a tankard of mead, his second in command rolling his eyes but he continued to grin. “Take him back down to his cell.”

The soldier nodded and he was led away, going towards the door.

“And one more thing,” he said making the soldier and him pause. “Siddgeir? What’s your mead?”

He frowned, almost not answering before he found his mouth moving. “Black-Briar.”

“Black-Briar,” Ulfric repeated. “You may go.”

It didn’t creep him out but it did unsettle him a bit at the question. He was taken back to his cell where he was let to go in, the door being locked behind him. He watched the soldier leave, Nenya laying on her side on the straw and he went to lay down when a voice came.

“How was your meal, Siddgeir?” a sarcastic voice came from the fourth cell. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

He heard giggling from a woman and he furrowed his brows. He chose not to answer, moving to his corner, but the mocking continued.

“Leave him alone,” one of them said in a gravelly voice. “He just went for a meal.” There was a pause. “Although, the amount of time he was up there very long.”

“Probably because he was bending over for the new High King,” a female voice came from beside his cell. “After all, how else is he going to squeal like a traitorous pig?”

That comment made him turn. “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped and his comment got laughs back making his face burn in embarrassment. He turned to look to his former steward. “Nenya!” he said.

She didn’t move.

“Nenya!” he said again and she didn’t move. He went to her side, wanting someone in his corner but when he touched her shoulder she swiftly moved, slapping his hand off making him move back.

“Don’t touch me,” she said in a very low voice and he stared at her. His hands shook.

He went to the corner he had been sleeping in, stripping off his robe, and he curled into it, covering his ears. His face burned, his stomach was heavy, and when he couldn’t take it, he punched the stone wall. He broke the skin on his knuckles, the pain shooting up his body but it felt better than dealing with the anger inside him. He fell asleep clutching his fist.

He began to take up the offer every night, the only one out of them all but he didn’t care. Nenya wasn’t talking to him, her disappointment all too evident for him but he ignored her over it. After all, now that he wasn’t her Jarl, her true colors were showing. She didn’t respect him. In fact, she would chime in to the conversations on how he was a Stormcloak whore. He, in turn, shunned her. After all, he knew the day was coming when she would anyways. They were never friends and he held little love for her. Just as it was becoming obvious she held little care for him.

The feasts got better as the week went on and when bottles of Black-Briar reserve were brought to the table, he almost laughed in happiness. He downed one so fast he choked on it making the guests and Ulfric laugh at him like he was some amusing jester but he didn’t fucking care. Maven’s mead brought back memories that actually made him smile and when he was allowed another, he savored it for a long time, thinking about the old times he sat on his throne as he did.

He missed his power. He missed being the king of his own domain. And he missed Maven. He looked at the bottle, tracing the label for a moment as he began to think about her. He wondered if she was doing alright. She had supported the Empire and the Thalmor and he wondered if that had any negative effect on her when everything in Skyrim collapsed.

Then he wondered if she ever thought about him. He looked to the label, his thumb running over her name and a dark thought came to him. If she cared about him, wouldn’t she have sent him a note telling him she would grant him refuge? He heard nothing from her since he was exiled and at first he wondered if it was too dangerous for her to do so. But as the days went on, his thoughts began to change. Did she not care for him now that he was powerless? Did she ever care for him or did she just use him because he was a Jarl and granted her free tax to move her goods?

His appetite soon waned and he placed the bottle in front of him, despite it being half-full. Ulfric noticed.

“You drink too much?” he asked and Siddgeir shot him a look. He chose to ignore him.

“Hey,” Galmar said making him pause. “Your High King asked you a question.”

He paused. His eyes met the commanders and he gave him a dangerous look, as if challenging him to be defiant. He pressed his tongue against his cheek and looked to Ulfric who was staring down at him. The air became uncomfortable when it had been jovial before and he was frowned at the feeling. Something wasn’t right.

“I had too much,” he lied as he grabbed a loaf of bread. The guests were all looking at him and he felt his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment over it. What the fuck was with them all?

Maybe he was beginning to stop being amusing to them. He nearly wolfed down his bread at the thought of him being sent back down to his cell to remain and eat apples and raw potatoes from then on. Slowly they all went back to eating but the tension was still there.

By Zenithar, couldn’t he catch a fucking break?

As he was moving to leave to go back to his cell, he found himself pausing and he looked to Ulfric who was drinking a tankard of mead.

“I want to leave the castle,” he said making Ulfric look to him and Galmar’s eyes draw up as well. Ulfric raised a brow and slowly lowered his drink.

“Do you…”

“You put a guard on me already,” he started. “Let me go out. They can follow.”

“Why should we?” Galmar said immediately making him meet his eyes, his cheeks flushing a bit. “You’re still an Empire-loving dog.”

He grit his teeth. “Have I made any fucking indication of that as of late?” he said. “Let me go out!”

“No!” Galmar slammed down his tankard. “You’re already getting too familiar here. You want to suckle at our rich teat but still remain with your runt brothers.”

“Are you fucked?” he spat. “Where do you come up with that shit? Suckle at your teat? You fucking offered dinner and I took it! I’m asking one thing!”

Galmar pointed at him which made him fume. “Your motives are clear, boy. You are no better than a whore who lays down for coin. You want to have your luxuries back, that’s why you accepted.”

“Uh, yeah, you fucking old shit!” he said. “I’m living in a fucking cell next to a bunch of goddamn assholes eating raw potatoes. Wouldn’t you fucking take a deal for something better?”

Galmar moved to speak but Ulfric got up making him stop. “Ulfric,” he said. “I told you, this brat…”

“Where would you go?” he asked and they stared at him. Siddgeir blinked.

“What?”

“Where would you go?” Ulfric said again, his cold eyes meeting his making him tense a bit. “If you were allowed out.”

He paused, still flushed, but he kept it together and eventually he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only been here once. Like I fucking know where I’d go. I just want out.”

He continued to stare at him, judging him hard and he met his eyes back, maintaining their eye contact for longer than expected before he had to look away.

“Fine.”

“Ulfric!” Galmar said immediately and Siddgeir looked to him in surprise. “You’re joking!”

Ulfric merely took a drink, savouring the mead in his tankard before he set it down and looked to his commander before back at him. Siddgeir found himself relaxing a bit but the back of his neck still felt hot.

“It’s fine, Galmar,” he said. “I don’t believe he would run. He’s too weak for that.” He furrowed his brows at the insult. “But you listen, Siddgeir of Stuhn. You make any attempt to escape your guard or the city, and I will have you tortured and your body hanged from the walls.”

He swallowed. “Whatever,” he said in a dry voice. Ulfric stared at him before he leaned up and grabbed his tankard.

“Take him back to his cell,” he waved to the soldier behind him. “Tomorrow, let him go out.”

The soldier behind him placed a heavy glove on his shoulder and he followed them, looking back once at Ulfric as he did.

“Ulfric, you’re joking,” Galmar’s voice came immediately but he didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He was taken back down to his cell.

And that was how he was allowed to leave the palace.

By simply asking.

 

\-------

 

Windhelm sucked. It just… it just sucked.

He was allowed to go early in the morning, leaving before Nenya even stirred and he ignored the comments from those who were up who mainly called him names that were neither clever not provoking. He followed the soldier set to guard him up to the Grand Hall and stepped out of the Palace, the morning slightly cloudy but the sun was streaming through when it could.

He appreciated it nonetheless. After all, more than a week being cooped up in a cell did tend to make him enjoy any weather more. Even if it had rained, he would have been happy. As long as he got out of there. And he moved to begin exploring Windhelm, his mind slightly interested in doing so.

He didn’t even make it out of the palace courtyard before a woman came up to him that looked like she had escaped from the grave. She was utterly terrifying, especially when she stuck her hands out to him. “Spare a coin for a poor old woman?”

He recoiled. “What the fuck?” was all he could say and his guard moved, drawing his sword making the woman step back.

“Get out of here, you filthy vagrant!”

She moved back but her expression changed. “Talos rewards those who give, you know.”

“If Talos were here, he would strike you down,” the guard said. “Now move! Get out of the courtyard and back to the gutters from where you came!”

She left, giving the both a hard eye as she did and Siddgeir stared before he looked to his guard who was sheathing his sword. “What the fuck was that?”

The guard’s cheek twitched but he didn’t answer. Siddgeir waited until their eyes met and the soldier gave him a look of distaste which reminded him of his position. He was a prisoner and this guard was there to make sure he wasn’t going to escape. He grumbled and moved, exiting from the Palace grounds to the city where the stones were uneven and broken. He stared. This was Ysgramor’s old palace? How the mighty had fallen, he mused to himself.

He went to the building in front of the palace first, checking on the name first out of curiosity. It looked strange to be an Inn and he moved towards the wooden buildings to the left after, their architecture shoddy and weeds growing from the cracks in the path around them. He continued, the city getting worse as he went until the stench of fish hit him and he shuddered violently.

“Stendarr’s dick,” he muttered as he went down a very crooked alley that seemed to darken the more he went. “What is wrong with this city?”

His guard actually spoke. “This is the grey quarter,” he said and he turned to look at him. The soldier made a face. “Where all those dark elves live.”

He frowned. “What dark elves?”

The guard didn’t answer once again out of spite and he rolled his eyes. Whatever. He continued anyways, the smell of smoke and pollution increasing until he came to a large gate. Beside it sat a little girl and she seemed to perk up when she saw him though he was more preoccupied with whether he should go through the doors. She grabbed a basket, running forward and he stiffened when she neared.

“Hi mister!” she said in a cheerful tone. “Would you like to buy a flower?”

He gaped at her. “What?”

His guard moved, his sword being pulled out and the girl screamed, nearly dropping her basket.

“No, no! Please! Not again!”

“Get lost, urchin!” he snapped and she went running. Siddgeir gaped at him.

“It was a fucking kid,” he said as the soldier sheathed his sword once more. The guard looked at him, then behind him before he brought up his hand and backhanded him as hard as he could. It made him stagger, dazed. He just fucking hit him.

“Go back up to where the palace is,” the guard said. “I will not be taken down the stinking streets of the grey quarter because you think our High King granted you a free pass to do as you please.”

“You fucking prick!” he spat and he blocked the next punch, throwing his arm aside. “Fucking Mara, whatever! Fine!”

“Move!” the guard said and he once again was reminded of his place. He turned, walking back out of the grey quarter but now his cheek was beginning to throb badly. He tried not to keep bringing his hand up to touch it as it would show the bastard he couldn’t handle the pain but it stung and it had been a long time since anyone had ever struck him. The last time he had been hit, he was fifteen and that was only because he missed blocking his father’s swing.

He vowed that day to never let anyone lay a damn hand on him again but now here he was with a throbbing cheek. It wounded his pride more than his flesh and by the time they got back to the uneven stones before the palace, he was fuming.

But he wasn’t ready to go back. He was breathing in fresh air and the sun on his body felt good. And he did not want to go back to his cell. He walked down instead of up and found a graveyard, the size smaller than Falkreath’s but the stones were bigger and took up more space. Deathbells and Nightshade grew between the spacious rows and the air seemed colder though he was used to it and he didn’t mind.

He passed by a priestess of Arkay praying, her robes a sign of her status and he came to a fork in the path when he went up a set of small stairs. One way seemed to lead up to a cluster of large houses. The other way he could hear the sounds of a market.

He went to the market. After all, what else was he going to do? He only had ever been to the Whiterun and Solitude markets anyways and he was curious on what Windhelm had.

But whatever he was expecting, what he found wasn’t it. There were barely four measly stands with boxes and what looked like junk piled everywhere. There was no one in front of them, the stall owners looking bored and to the left of the market there was a blacksmith where an old man was yelling at a girl.

He stared. “Fucking oblivion,” he said. “This is sad.”

His presence didn’t go unnoticed and as he slowly entered the area, the stall owners sprung to life, almost scrambling in a panic as if he was going to be their big break.

“Fresh Produce, over here!”

“Looking for the best cuts of meat? Come to Aval’s!”

“The best prices in all of Windhelm, right here…”

He stared at them, his cheek twitching a bit. The one thing he didn’t part Falkreath or Solitude with was money. He tried but somehow all the coin bags he hid went missing much to his aggravation and as he stood, watching the vendors scramble with their best lines, to try and draw him near.

Behind him his guard moved, coming to face him making him pause. “I’m going to go talk to someone,” he said. “You try and escape and I will scalp you in front of the entire city.”

He flushed. “Whatever.”

The bastard took out his sword, shoving it at his face making him recoil a bit. “I mean it.”

“I said whatever!” he spat, shoving him away and the soldier gave him a look before he turned and went towards where a guard was standing. They started to talk, leaving him alone, and he let out an uneasy sigh. He looked around the market, the eyes still on him and he flushed, trying to play it off. This was humiliating. 

He went to the meat stand, pretending to be interested but he was furious once again. Gods, he hated this. If he was a Jarl again, that soldier would have ‘accidentally drowned’ in Lake Illinalta. He wanted his damn power back and he wanted to make these bastards pay for treating him like he was a dog.

“Fresh meats from the wilds of Eastmarch!” the dark elf merchant said, showing off his stand. He looked at the cuts. They were pathetic at best and his expression must have shown. “I assure you, each cut is fit for a Jarl.”

He laughed at that. Even if he was starving, he wouldn’t take them. “These cuts are terrible,” he said making the dark elf frown. “It looks like you took a gutting knife to an elk shoulder. The grain should be smooth, not ragged from a poor dagger.”

The elf stared at him then slowly leaned over his stall. “You’re a hunter?”

He met his eye. “No,” he said. “I’m just not an idiot.”

The elf wrinkled his nose and he left him, moving past the produce stall, not even bothering.

“Fresh fruit and vegetables!” the woman said but he had no interest, even if he had money. His eyes went to his guard who was still chatting it up with the other soldier and he sighed, making his way to the weapons shop. Or he assumed. When he looked at her stall, there was a mix of everything.

The female Altmer who seemed to own the stand leaned over. “Care to buy some armor?”

He stared at her. “You’re a blacksmith?”

“I’m a trader,” she said and he scoffed. Her brow raised. “You doubt me?”

“No,” he admitted and he touched the iron armor she had on the top of her stand, lifting it with one finger. “Just… this stuff is garbage.” He let it fall back. “It looks like you run a junk shop.”

Her expression turned less than friendly. “Is that so?” She leaned up, picking up the iron armor to show him, flashing the collar. “This armor was crafted by Eorland Gray-Mane in Whiterun, one of the best smiths around. Please, do tell me how a piece of armor valued at over two thousand septims is junk.”

He stared at her. “Are you kidding?” he grabbed the armor, looking at the inscription, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. He wasn’t a blacksmith, nor did he know a lot about armor that wasn’t leather but he damn well knew the Skyforge’s steel. He studied it for a moment before it tossed it back to her making her jaw tighten.

“That’s not made by Eorlund,” he said. “It’s made at the Skyforge, but not by Eorlund.”

“And how do you know?” she asked and he raised his head, looking down at her.

“Eorlund Gray-Mane marks his armor with his initials in the breast of the Skyforge eagle he puts on every piece that comes from there. That lacks his initials.”

She set the armor down and crossed her arms. “Maybe he forgot.”

“Maybe you’re a fucking swindler,” he said and she looked utterly offended at his suggestion. He shrugged. “Don’t try that shit on me.”

“Who are you?” she cut in. “I’ve never seen you in Windhelm before. And that soldier who seemed to be your… what is he? Boyfriend?”

That made his nails dig into his arm.

“You two are quite the match.”

He gave her the worst look he could make, wanting to spit insults at her but he couldn’t. It would be less than wise to tell people on his first day he was a prisoner of the Blue Palace and he instead changed his tactic, smirking a bit. He looked her over.

“So, I call you out and you immediately attack my sexuality without knowing anything about me. My, please keep it up. It really makes me want to recommend your rip-off stall.”

That made her nostrils flare. “Who are you?” she said once more.

“None of your fucking business,” he said back before he turned, moving to leave her stall. She let out a small laugh.

“Here’s a free tip,” she said as he was moving to go wait for the guard at the other end of the market. “Swallow. Don’t spit.”

He frowned. What? He looked back at her, utterly confused and it made her begin to laugh.

“Fucking Altmers,” he said and he moved, going to wait by the graveyard, his cheeks flushing as he did. The soldier did not come back for some time and he sat among the graves, pulling up weeds around him before he moved to plucking the petals off of a cluster of brown deathbells. It was quiet, he supposed. Only a few people passed by, some giving him a look as if he was a beggar but he ignored them, waiting as he did.

When his guard finally came he stood up, brushing off his robes and the soldier’s smile disappeared when he saw him. He went up to him and came too close for comfort.

“You tried to run off.”

He gaped. “I did not!” he said but he was struck. Hard. And he staggered, grabbing his cheek immediately.

“We’re going back,” the soldier demanded and he glared at him, almost defiantly, until the guard moved and he flinched. He did as he said, moving back to the Palace of Kings and he was taken down to his cell. He avoided meeting the others eyes and Nenya moved from her place in the corner nearest to Balgruuf’s cell, crossing her arms as she did. He ignored her as he was shoved inside.

The guard slammed the door after, locking the gate, and he watched him leave before he went to his corner, kicking the dirt out of the small hole he had dug.

“Where’d you go?” a voice called from the cell next to him. “Did you go suck off Ulfric Stormcloak and his merry men?”

He didn’t answer as he pulled off his robes, curling into the space he made himself, his hands moving to cover his ears. He heard their voices, a baritone rumbling in his ears but he was starting to get good at blocking them out. Within fifteen minutes he was asleep, drifting into dark dreams and the cool dirt against his cheek felt good. He just wanted it to end.

When he woke in the evening, a soldier rattling his cage to get him up, he could feel a bruise forming. It stung but he refrained from touching it, putting on his robes carefully instead. He left his cell, following the soldier up until they reached the Grand Hall where Ulfric sat with his court.

Jorleif was the first one to react. “Shor’s bones, your cheek!” he said and he said nothing, moving to sit. “It looks like you got in a fight with Ysgramor himself!”

“Hn,” he replied, moving to grab a loaf of bread. Ulfric studied him.

“What happened?” he asked and he slowly chewed the chunk in his mouth, taking his time as he did so he could think. He finally swallowed.

“I tripped.”

“You tripped?” Ulfric’s brows raised. He shrugged.

“Your city has real fucking terrible construction,” he said, eating more. Ulfric watched him for a moment before he looked to the guard and he snapped his fingers.

“Take him back to his cell.”

He stopped, looking at him in shock. “What? Why?!”

“Come on,” the soldier said but he wasn’t satisfied. He held the bread tight as he got up, glaring at Ulfric in irritation.

“What the fuck, I told you what happened!” he snapped. “You asked! And I answered!”

Ulfric’s cold eyes met his and he pointed.

“Take him back to his cell.”

He threw his hands up in disbelief. “This is bullshit!” he said, tossing down his bread. The guard went to touch him but he ripped his arm back. “Don’t touch me, you fucking asshole!”

He slapped the guard’s hand away and before he could react, a fist hit his face. He stumbled, Jorleif made a noise, and he caught himself on the table, nearly falling over the bench as he did. He grabbed where the guard hit, pain shooting into his eyes and he shook for a moment, trying to assess what happened.

This was the third time he was being struck that day. He licked his lips, tasting blood and he slowly pulled his hand away, feeling the rush come from his nose. He stood, letting it drip down his face and he turned to look at Ulfric, his eyes dark as he did.

Ulfric raised his head a bit, looking down at him still. His eyes slid over to the guard.

“I will not repeat myself a third time,” was all he said and Siddgeir was taken from the hall, still bleeding as he did. When he went back to his cell, he felt Nenya’s eyes move to him in shock but he didn’t address her. Only when the soldier left did he wipe at his nose with the back of his hand, blood smearing the back in a thick line. 

It was starting to dry but it still hurt more than anything. He could feel Nenya waiting as if he would tell her but he remained silent. He pulled off his robes, curled back up in his corner, and put his hands on his ears.

But he made out one distinct voice. “Nenya? What happened? Why’s he back so soon?”

He could almost see her frown. “I don’t know. He’s got blood on him.”

“Good.”

He shut his eyes.

 

—

 

He was back in the market, his left cheek bruised, his nose completely sore and he looked over the stalls again, this time the vendors giving him a wary look. He was once again waiting for his guard to be finished talking when the Altmer woman approached him. He only glanced to her.

“What?”

She studied him, her arms crossing. “I know who you are,” she said and he dropped the cabbage he had been looking at, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t seem smug about it, nor did she appear particularly enthralled.

“Who am I?” he said in a sarcastic voice. She pursed her lips.

“You were once the Jarl of Falkreath,” she said and he tensed. If his body language didn’t give away that she was right, his expression surely did but she took no pleasure in it. She merely continued to stare at him. “Ulfric Stormcloak has you as a prisoner.”

He pursed his lips, his throat feeling dry. “Way to go, detective,” he said, his voice a bit raspy as he looked back to the cabbage. She didn’t move away from him which irritated him. “Do you want something?”

“Did he do that?” she asked and he furrowed his brows, looking to her. She brought a single finger up and made a circle around her face. “Your face.”

“No,” he said. “His guards did. But that’s really none of your concern, is it?”

Her cheek twitched.

“What do you want?” he finally asked, his head beginning to throb. “You found out who I am, so what? Unless you’re an assassin or something, I really don’t see how that information is useful.” Though he did pause. “How did you get this information anyways?”

She let out a long sigh. “You should be careful of Ulfric,” she said. “He rarely cares for his enemies.”

“Really?” he said in a heavily sarcastic tone. “All this time I thought he wanted me to dine with him because I was special! Stendarr’s dick, do you think I don’t know?” He spat but she continued to remain near him aggravating him even more. “Seriously, do you want something?” he finally snapped. “Because I don’t have any money, if that’s what you want. Go ahead and tell everyone. Not like it won’t get out anyways.”

She still didn’t move, her golden eyes locked on him and he was about to really go off on her when she stepped towards him.

“My name is Niranye,” she said. He stared at her. So what? She seemed to read his expression perfectly and she let out a soft sigh. “And I’m a part of the Thieves Guild.”

 

 

\-------

 

The liquid tasted dusty, for a lack of a better word. He still drank it, cringing a bit as he did and after a few good mouthfuls he looked to Niranye.

“Is it less noticeable?” he asked and she tilted her head.

“Drink the entire thing,” she replied and he sighed but downed the rest of the weak healing potion. He physically shuddered after, the taste lingering in his mouth and she pursed her lips beside him.

“It looks a lot better than before,” she finally said. He touched his nose, feeling the cartilage and it wasn’t nearly as sore as it had been a few minutes ago. He took it as a good sign and leaned back against the stone wall, looking out to the graveyard that stretched out back towards the Palace of the Kings, the priestess of Arkay praying silently by the mangled tree.

“Thanks,” he finally said, handing her the empty bottle and she took it, rolling it in her hands. “I suppose I owe you now.”

She didn’t say anything and she placed the bottle down on one of the graves near them, leaning back against the sun-baked wall with him. They were silent, the sounds of the blacksmith hammering echoing through the walls and birds songs coming from the trees outside the city.

He found himself looking to her.

“How’d you find out who I was?” he asked. She didn’t meet his eyes but he saw a smile play on her lips.

“I told you. I’m with the Thieves Guild.”

“So?” he said. “I’m not exactly a card-carrying member, you know.”

“True,” she remarked before she tucked her red hair behind her ear, still smiling. “Do you really want to know?”

Her tone disturbed him a bit. “What, did you sneak into the palace and spy on me?”

She laughed. It was short and rather condescending but considering he hadn’t exactly heard a lot of jovial sounds around him as of late, he chose to ignore it instead of remark.

“I wouldn’t dream of entering the Palace,” she said. “I’m not a fan of soldiers.”

Truthfully, now that he didn’t have a title, he was starting to find out he wasn’t that fond of them either. But he directed her back to his original question. “Then how’d you find out?”

“You really want to know?”

“No,” he said sarcastically. “I’m just asking to make light conversation. Yes, I want to know.”

She smirked and her eyes met his. “I asked the guards, smart-ass.”

He found himself flushing a bit. It made sense. The guards would know who entered the palace. But at the same time it pissed him off a bit. What right did they have to announce to anyone who asked who was in the dungeons. She noticed his expression turn sour and she took to leaning on her shoulder, facing him with her arms crossed.

“You’re mad,” she teased.

“Fuck off,” he said automatically and she laughed again. “Whatever. Like I fucking care.”

“Obviously you do,” she said making him give her a hateful look. “But I am curious. How did you get to be their prisoner? I never heard any gossip on the Stormcloaks marching to Falkreath.”

“Because they didn’t,” he said. “My Hold was taken from me in an illegal fucking meeting. I had no damn say on the matter or on giving up my crown.”

“Ahh,” she said. “A meeting? That’s rather peculiar. I would never have thought the Empire would decide to just give up a Hold to the Stormcloaks. That seems like bad tactics.”

“They didn’t,” he found himself sighing, trying to recall the note his uncle had shoved against his chest proclaiming he was no longer Jarl. “It was fucking Balgruuf’s fault. That fucking prick… And the dragonborn, that son-of-a-bitch. Both of them fucking caused this.”

“The dragonborn…” Niranye said, her hand coming up to play around her lips. “How interesting.”

“They made the meeting with those burlap sacked old men on the mountain. They fucking made Ulfric give up Winterhold but in exchange, my Hold was taken. So was Markarth,” he said bitterly and he found himself kicking the stone around him, his moodiness coming back. “It didn’t even fucking matter anyways as Ulfric just went and took Winterhold back while Tullius was bumbling about.”

"Ah yes, the General," she commented.

“Yeah, him,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now I’m fucking stuck here, living in a fucking cell with a bunch of delusional pricks and-” he swept his hand towards where the market lay. “-Getting hit by assholes who should be honored just to be in my presence.”

She watched him for a moment and he folded his arms again, fuming. He kicked the stones a bit harder, his anger welling over the fact that he had been hit. Thrice. He swore, if that guard tried to do it again, he was going to lose an arm.

“Why?” she asked and he looked to her, confused for a moment, as if she had read his thoughts.

“Because he deserves it?” he said with a frown. She gave him a confused look before she shook her head.

“Let me elaborate,” she said. “Why did they hit you?”

“Who?”

“The guards?” she said and he fell silent. “You said they struck you.” He began to flush in embarrassment and wouldn’t meet her eye. After all, he was a man. And whatever was done to him physically was no one’s business. Really, though, if he was any sort of man he would have fought back even if it meant his death.

His lack of honor was making him miserable again.

“Siddgeir?” she asked and he glared at her from the corner of his eye. “Why’d they hit you?”

He pressed his lips thin. “None of your damn business,” he said, about to leave it at that but he couldn’t help himself. “And don’t say my name so fucking flippantly. I’m still a fucking Jarl, I’ll have you know. And I barely know you. You just came up to me to tell me you were in the Thieves Guild. We have nothing in common save for that!”

She raised a brow at his outburst and slowly her tongue pressed against the side of her mouth as she looked down at him which made him furious. He turned to her, giving her an angry look to try and intimidate her despite the fact she was taller than him by a few inches making their eye levels uneven. She didn’t move. In fact, she barely flinched.

“I’m beginning to see why they probably hit you.”

He flushed a deep red. “Fuck. You.”

“You know, Siddgeir,” she purposely used his name. “You’re not a Jarl anymore. You lack a Hold and you lack a crown and considering the fact I gave you a potion, I think you owe me the courtesy of answering what I ask.”

He grit his teeth. “I never asked for your help.”

“Oh, yes, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I suppose it was better for you to walk around with your nose twisted and your cheek purple. So sorry I took pity on you.”

“I don’t need anyone’s pity!” he spat and she gave him a cold look that made him hesitate. Now she was the one intimidating him.

“And you don’t deserve it either,” she said and he stared at her. He had enough. He turned to leave, about to exit the small cluster of graves where they were when she spoke. “If you leave the market area, your guard will really come down on you, you know.”

“So what,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Siddgeir,” she called his name and he stopped, his hands bunching into fists. “Whatever your problem is, I suggest you get over it. Otherwise you’ll be hanging from Candlehearth Hall.”

Normally he would have just left. He did so with Nenya enough times when she was pissing him off but here, here he was trapped. He had nowhere to go save for maybe down past the Priestess of Arkay and the damned Altmer was right. If his soldier found him a good distance away, he probably would get hit worse than before.

He was trapped and the fact made him crazy. It wasn’t fair. And he was shaking when she approached him, his fists balled up so tight his nails were leaving marks on his palm. She touched his shoulder and he violently flinched.

“What!?” he spat, furious, his eyes nearly blinded with hatred and rage and she looked down at him. He rubbed his eyes, not meeting her gaze and she folded her arms, staying beside him infuriating him more. “Will you fucking leave?!”

“No,” she said and he could have strangled her.

“Gods, what is your fucking problem?” he spat and when she didn’t answer he went off. “You want to know why the guards hit me? Because they fucking can. Because I’m like you said, I’m not a Jarl. I’m a fucking prisoner. So why not? No one’s going to care! You obviously don’t. And I doubt the rest of the pitiful inhabitants of this shitty city would either! So, whatever!”

He swept his hand over the graveyard. “Maybe I should just let him beat me to death and scalp me right here! No one will fucking care, right? After all, why pity me?”

She didn’t respond and he turned away, moving back to where he had been at the wall, his body shaking. He was going mad and when he began to finally calm down after what felt like hours, she spoke.

“You’re very dramatic,” she said and he would have gone off again but he was starting to get tired. He went and sat on one of the long, stone graves.

“Fuck you,” he said, his head aching. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the blood pulsing rapidly against his thumb and index finger and she came to stand before him. He stared at the stones, miserable. He was beginning to feel an ache inside of him like he hadn’t felt before, even at the Blue Palace. He missed his home. He missed the forests of Falkreath and the mountains and the freedom and power he had. Now he was just some dog trapped in a cage at night and kept on a tight leash during the day. He was starting to crack.

He reached up and touched his face at the thought, as if there would be physical lines showing he was losing it. Of course there was none but he felt it inside of himself. He took to merely staring at the stones by his feet, reflecting on his longing. As he did, she drew near to him.

“Are you done having your tantrum?” she said and he ignored her. If he could ignore a group of rabid former Imperial Jarls and their mouthy housecarls and stewards, he sure as fuck could ignore one woman. She wouldn’t accept it. “Siddgeir?”

He refused to talk to her and she sighed.

“Look,” she said. “You were right.” He raised his head a bit, immediately listening. “We don’t have anything in common save for we both know the Thieves Guild but I am going to give you some advice right now because of that. And I hope you listen. Whatever your problem is, you need to deal with it. The way you act, you are just setting yourself up for the guards of this city to torture you without consequence.”

He lowered his head again, flushing. So what. No one in that damn city cared for him and he was beginning to feel the pressure from that fact on his shoulders. If some lousy guards beat him, who was going to care.

“Siddgeir,” she said again making his ears burn. “Don’t give them that opportunity.”

He finally spoke, his voice cracking a bit as he did. “Why do you fucking care?”

She shifted next to him and he could feel her eyes on his neck but he still wouldn’t raise his head.

“Because,” she said in a soft tone. “Despite the fact you are utterly irritating, pompous, and a complete idiotic brat.” She paused and he glared at the ground. “I supported the Empire once.”

He bristled a bit.

“And you don’t deserve this.”

He still didn’t raise his head. He was angry and confused and miserable all at once. He wanted to spit at her. He wanted to leave. Instead he was stuck and he found his eyes darkening as he continued to stare at the stone ground. The miserable side of him was taking over.

“I thought you said I don’t deserve pity,” he said in a spiteful tone.

“You don’t. And this isn’t pity.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” he spat, still not raising his head.

She sighed. “It’s sympathy.”

“That’s the same fucking thing!” he snapped.

“Sympathy for someone who was for our failing Empire! And for someone who aided the Thieves Guild” she cut back. “Not anything for you personally.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead he just sat, miserable. He really regretted being allowed to walk the streets. No, that was wrong. He regretted Ulfric’s call for them in Solitude wasn’t an execution. At least in Aetherius he probably would get some respect.

“Siddgeir,” Niranye said and he closed his eyes, his teeth gritting. He didn’t want to ever hear his name again. “Come work for me.”

That made him open his eyes. He glanced at her, her expression still stern and he chose not to answer.

“I can protect you,” she offered and finally he got up. He shoved past her, making sure his shoulder hit her good as he did and he went down the steps towards the rest of the graveyard, moving through the mist. He turned, thankful the path led only to the right and he went to go stand at the other end of where the street went up for the market. He saw his guard, still chatting with his friend, and he took a moment to collect himself before he leaned against the cold walls.

He was beginning to wear down. In fact, he was starting to just accept it all. Ulfric was High King. Maybe he should bow to him. He was never going to get his Hold back or get any freedom again but if he submitted, maybe he could be left alone.

But the thought of defeat depressed him deeply. He used to have bite and honor. Now he was no better than a stray dog begging for whatever comfort it could find.

He didn’t react when his guard came to him which was a bad move on his part. He was backhanded. Hard. But he merely staggered from it, not protesting anymore.

“What’s this?” his guard said, moving to force him to stand. He flushed as he did. “Your cheek is healed.”

He shrugged. That was a wrong answer and a ringing soon filled his ears.

“How’d you get healed?”

He flushed, refusing to speak. The guard shoved him back, his sword being drawn and he silently begged him to use it.

“Where’d you get healed?”

“Jurgen!” a man called and the soldier moved back, straightening as someone drew near them. He looked out of the corner of his eye and a Stormcloak soldier was drawing near, their face visible as they bore no covered helmet. That either meant he was a soldier that traveled for the army, or he was very high ranking. Neither option was good. The Stormcloak soldier drew near and looked to him making him cast his eyes down.

“What’s going on here?”

His guard raised his head a bit.

“Sorry, sir. But the prisoner I’m watching seems to have stolen.”

“Stolen?” the soldier said and Siddgeir looked to them.

“I didn’t-” he began to say but it was cut off. Stars filled his vision and he fell back against the wall. Whatever the potion he had before had done, it was useless now as both his cheeks throbbed.

“Silence, you thief!” his guard snapped but the soldier stepped in.

“Did you see him do this?” he asked and his guard hesitated.

“No,” he said. “But his cheek and nose were broken before. Now they’re not. Obviously that was from a healing potion and he was in the market today. He could have taken from the vendors while they weren’t looking.”

The soldier frowned.

“He’s one of Ulfric’s prisoners. He has no loyalty or honor and still loves the Empire like a dog.”

He didn’t say anything to defend himself and the soldier turned to study him.

“Is this true?” he asked and it took him a moment to realize he was addressing him. He raised his head, his eyes meeting the soldiers.

“No,” he said.

“No?” the soldier frowned. “You are not a prisoner? You are not an Imperial supporter?”

He furrowed his brows. “Y-Yeah, I am, but I didn’t steal-”

He was hit. Hard. Harder than the guards ever gave him and he hit the wall, his vision filled with black spots. Even his guard seemed shocked.

“S-Sir?”

“That,” the guard said. “Was for my sister, you Imperial-loving bastard.” He looked up, his eyes blurry. “She was eleven years old.”

He had no idea what he was talking about but he was grabbed nonetheless, made to stand and the soldier looked like he was about to hit him again when a voice called out.

“Stop it!” a female said and he looked, his eyes still struggling to focus but he easily could tell who it was. He grit his teeth. “He didn’t steal anything! I gave him a potion!”

“Who’s that?” his guard said and the Stormcloak soldier beside him straightened.

“Niranye,” he said, moving to meet the Altmer. “That man is a prisoner of war. You shouldn’t be interacting with him.”

“Why not?” she said, moving to face the soldier in defiance. “Regardless of who he is, he was injured.”

“His injuries are with good cause,” the soldier said and Siddgeir frowned. “He’s a dangerous man. In fact, after this, he will be locked permanently in his cell.”

That made his blood run cold. Great. Two days of freedom. The daedric prince of madness was sure to come to him now. He hoped he wouldn’t turn into a cannibal or brain rot carrier. Although he was sure because he didn’t want it he would get it now. Actually, the fact he was internally fighting with himself probably indicated the first step and he slumped against the wall. He hoped his madness would make him forget all this.

“You can’t do that,” Niranye said to the guard.

“Why not?”

“Because, he’s my labourer,” she said making them all pause. He looked to her in complete confusion. What was she going on about?

“Labourer?” The soldier said. “That’s impossible. He’s our prisoner.”

“Who will be helping me in the market,” she said. “When he’s allowed out.”

“Who authorized that?” his guard said, shoving him back against the wall as a side before he went to confront Niranye. She didn’t back down. “I sure as shit didn’t. And I can tell you, the High King didn’t either.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I know what you two want,” she said in a quiet tone. “You want to humiliate him, do you know?”

They didn’t speak.

“What is more humiliating than a former Jarl doing meaningless labour for an elf? You don’t have to watch him for almost all day. In fact, you can do as you like. In return, I get some work out of him, he gets beaten down until he’s too tired to open his mouth and I make some coin,” she said, her voice turning sweet halfway through her speech. “It’s practically a win-win for us.”

“Niranye,” the soldier said, hesitant. “You shouldn’t make deals with things that are not yours.”

“Please, I see how much trouble he is giving you,” she said, moving towards the soldier, her charm starting to work more. “I just came up with a way to have us benefit from his pitiful existence.”

He flushed at her words. He couldn’t tell if she was faking it or not and the thought of her being serious, making him do labour while the soldiers watched and laughed was a bit much for him. He had been humiliated enough. But then again, what were his options? He was either going to be treated poorly but allowed to breathe fresh air or get locked in a cell where at some point he would have to actually listen to what his former allies said about him.

He reached up and touched the chain around his neck, the necklace rubbing against his chest. Was this the gods way of mocking him for not giving more or some shit? If it was, he would rather get struck down than endure his dignity being stripped away more. But he was too tired to fight back, submissive now and he slumped on the wall.

“Come on,” Niranye purred. “Look, just keep doing what you do every day. If anyone asks… I’ll just tell them it’s community service.” The soldier hesitated. “Don’t you want to see a former Imperial Jarl - a former lover of the Empire - now have to do back-breaking work?”

“…Well…”

“And you,” she turned to his guard. “You won’t have to babysit him. In fact, you’ll see him in plain view every day. Ulfric allowed him to go out already, didn’t he? So why not benefit by making him work while you get some peace?”

His guard thought hard on it and looked to the soldier. All three looked back to him and he didn’t meet their eyes. He had been shamed enough already.

“Niranye, this is never to get out that we allowed this,” the soldier said. “If anyone asks, I’ll deny it and point only to you.”

“I’ll accept whatever comes,” she said, brushing past the soldier. “For now, let us just enjoy our new partnership.” She walked towards him and he immediately looked to the ground, his cheeks flushed with shame, his throat dry and she forced his chin up. He grit his teeth, trying to resist but he couldn’t and his eyes soon met hers. She wasn’t smiling.

“Trust me,” she said in a whisper and he swallowed. He didn’t even know what to think. He closed his eyes, pulling his head away from her grip and he stared at the ground again. She drew back.

“We have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” they both said and she clapped her hands together.

“Perfect, then I will see him tomorrow?” she said in a light tone and his guard came to him, grabbing him by the arm to roughly pull away from the wall making him stumble.

“You’ll see him tomorrow,” his guard agreed before he looked down at him with an almost gleeful expression. “And I’ll be delighted to watch you finally get what’s coming to you, worm.”

He said nothing, he refused to, and he was taken back to the cells, defeated as he did. He didn’t protest at the rough handling or the way he was thrown in, he just accepted it, stumbling into the shared cell and when the doors slammed behind him he stood, not moving. His cellmate glanced at him but he didn’t acknowledge their presence. He was just… so tired. He went to his corner, not bothering to take off his robes and he fell into it, the dirt making his side hurt.

He didn’t move but he didn’t go to sleep either. He was stuck somewhere in between, his mind murky and his future bleak. From the cells beside them, they began to talk.

“How much can you push it?”

“It moves in pretty far,” he heard Idgrod’s daughter say.

“I can go and see if it goes somewhere!” Idgrod’s son said enthusiastically and he was shushed.

“Not so loud, my child,” Idgrod’s voice croaked out. “We will not send a living person in there. Tomorrow… we will test it.”

“If it works?” Irileth said. “Then…?”

“We will see,” Idgrod said in a patient voice. “For now, we work on other things. Remember. They must not suspect anything wrong.”

Balgruuf sighed. “I hope it leads somewhere. I can’t stand another day in these degrading cells.”

“But, if it does,” Avenicci piped up. “What will we do?”

“Tomorrow,” Idgrod said. “We’ll make a plan. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” a mixture of whispers came, Nenya’s among them. He closed his eyes. None of that was his business.

 

\-------

 

He was dragged up in the morning to the market, his eyes downcast as he was. The morning had not been good for him. Though he had been struck numerous times, his cheek wasn’t as bad as it had been the day before but it still ached and that ache extended to his head. He was groggy and miserable but no one seemed to care. Eventually, he stopped as well. After all, what was the fucking point? 

But it was starting to get towards three days since he last ate and his stomach pained from the feeling. He was offered a small apple before he left the Palace of the Kings by the cook but he refused it. His appetite still wasn’t with him. He just wanted to get this over with.

Niranye was at her stall, unfolding a few pelts and he was shoved towards her by his guard who was only half properly dressed, not bothering with his colors.

“Have fun,” were his departing words and the guard left, going back towards the Palace of the Kings. He sighed but said nothing, keeping his eyes cast down. He merely waited for instruction and Niranye came to him, folding her arms.

“Good morning,” she said and he didn’t answer. She immediately picked up on his misery. “Siddgeir, I had to,” she began in a low voice. “Trust me, this is for the-”

“What am I supposed to do,” he cut in, his voice and head weary. He wasn’t in the mood to hear her excuses or false sympathy and pleasantries. He just wanted this over with. She let out a soft sigh and he could feel as if she was about to continue anyways but she relented. She began to give him instructions.

“There’s some crates. Over there,” she pointed to where an enchanting table sat, a stack of wooden crates piled in an uneven heap near it. “They need to be opened, sorted, and then whatever I can’t sell needs to be put back in and then shipped off to other fences in Tamriel.”

She left for a moment to grab a hammer, bringing it to him and he stared at it but took it, flipping it over slowly. He had never held a hammer before.

“Whatever looks like it is in bad condition or junk, put back in the crate. Anything else, keep aside so I can sell it.”

He looked to the crates, not moving and she left him again to fetch a stool, showing it to him. He briefly looked at her before he took it and she frowned as he stood listless, holding the hammer and what was obviously going to be his seat.

“Siddgeir?” she said and he closed his eyes, not listening. “Please, understand. I did this to help you.”

Yeah right. He didn’t say anything and he moved to the crates, putting the stool down as he stared at them. It took him a minute to figure out what to do as the boxes didn’t exactly have any indication on how to open them. And he wasn’t exactly taught how to deal with such menial things. Only when he found a loose nail did he figure it out and he used the end of the hammer to pry it out. It fell on the ground and he left it, prying off the others until the thin wooden panel dropped to the stones.

Inside was a mess of things and he frowned, reaching in to start taking them out. He pulled out a small stack of clothes ranging from simple children’s dresses to a heavy blacksmith apron. They were wrinkled and one of them was faded but they were in good condition otherwise. He tossed them in the ‘keep’ pile, not really sure if they were junk or not. He considered them as such but what did he fucking know anymore.

After that came miscellaneous junk. Wooden bowls, cracked plates, forks, fake silver goblets. There were a bunch of hinges that he threw in the keep pile but most of the rest looked like someone had looted a poor person’s home. He did find a ring caught on some iron fittings but it was tarnished and scratched. It was pure gold, however, even though it was thin and he threw it onto the clothes. Maybe someone would want it.

There was also a broken locket inside but he tossed it into the junk pile. It was missing a clasp and the large jewel that had obviously adorned the center making it worthless. Someone else could melt it down for silver but he doubted that it would be pure if they did. It didn’t feel like true silver, something he was never going to feel on his hands or head again.

More junk came after that. A broken bow, ragged cloths, leather strips, and more forks and plates followed. When he was finished he grabbed the keep pile and took it to where Niranye was now standing in front of her stall, her hands folding a bear pelt in a neat rectangular shape.

He dropped the pile beside her and she paused, looking down. She picked up a hinge, turning it over and he went to move back when she spoke.

“I can’t sell hinges,” she said and he sighed. He moved, grabbing the heap of them with one steady motion, his cheeks flushing as he did and he went back to the open crate, tossing them inside. He stuffed everything back in, pounding the nails hard into wooden top and he turned the crate over, dropping it to the side so he could get at the rest.

He was about to start digging into another, his mind shutting off as he did when she came to his side making him tense.

“Wait,” she said and he stopped. She moved to the crate he finished, setting it on its side and she pulled out a small dagger. Slowly she leaned down, scratching something into the wood before she straightened and pulled out a piece of paper, looking to him. “Can you read?”

He gave her an irritated look making her press her lips thin.

“I suppose that means you can.”

He didn’t answer.

“This needs to be taken to Scouts-Many-Marshes. He’s an Argonian on the docks. Tell him the crate is from me and needs to go to Morrowind. Give him this paper,” she held out the paper for him and he didn’t take it immediately. She sighed, stepping towards him and he finally moved, slipping it from her hands. It was folded and he stuffed it into his pocket, his eyes moving to look at the crate.

How he was going to lift the damn thing was going to be a challenge but he supposed that was the point of this, wasn’t it? She wanted him for labour and he couldn’t refuse. He sunk a bit deeper into his depression, going towards the crate and he felt how heavy it was. He could awkwardly cart it on his back, he supposed, and he burned a bit at the shame of doing so. But he really didn’t have a choice.

Before he could lift it, she brought two slings, holding it for him to take. He didn’t want to but the realization that it would be nearly impossible to haul it without them forced him to relent. He grabbed the worn, leather straps, hooking them around the crate and he struggled to get it on his back but he eventually got it. The wood dug into his shoulders rather painfully but he didn’t let that be known.

“Do you know where the docks is?” she asked and he shook his head, trying to adjust the crate better on his back. “Go past Candlehearth, up the steps then down the stairs leading to the grey quarter. You’ll see a large door on your right. Exit it, take the stairs, and the docks will be all along the city walls.”

So he had to go that door he saw a few days before. He sighed internally.

“Do you need any help?” she asked. He ignored her and moved, the crate shifting on his back as he did making his spine hurt. The first couple of steps were a bit shaky but once he got the hang of it, he strode from the market in silence, his eyes cast down. He could feel her watch him go but he shrugged it off, focused more on the fact that the quicker he made it to the docks, the quicker the load he had could get off of him.

As he passed through Windhelm, he felt the guards eyes on him, one smirking when their eyes accidentally met and he flushed a deep red. This was more than humiliating and his lungs burned as he struggled to pick up the pace and get to the docks before anyone else saw. He would take being scalped if Ulfric or Galmar caught sight of him. He could never live that down if they did.

As he went further towards the grey quarter, the fish and salt air began to soak the air and he sighed, breathing through his mouth. Gods, he hated that smell. He was never one for fish and he couldn’t imagine eating it all the time. But the thought of eating made him feel light headed and he sighed again, pushing it from his mind. He focused instead on finding the stairs and taking them slow down into the cold, broken area where the dark elves lived. The mindless of it eased him until he got to the bottom and found himself looking down the dark alley he had been before.

He felt his cheek throb and he pressed his lips thin. This was not an area that was ever going to be remembered fondly by him.

The alley of the grey quarter folded into itself making him frown, not certain he could make it through but somehow he did. He came back to the small area by the large doors and by it, he saw that same little girl. She looked up but when she realized who he was she grabbed her basket, moving to run off. He sighed but tried not to care. After all, he wasn’t exactly someone who liked kids or wanted them to like him back.

He was thankful the doors to the docks opened out making it easy for him to push but once he was outside, he had to stop and he let the crate slide from his back, his spine hurting. He grabbed it, feeling the slight bumps from the bone, his fingers massaging where his muscles were beginning to ache and he coughed when he smelled the drying fish on the racks. He was beginning to miss Falkreath more and more when a thought came to him.

He was alone here. He could escape.

He paused, his throat drying at the realization. This was the first time he even contemplated it. After all, he could swim. And if the docks were anything like he assumed, he could easily jump into the water and try and make a break for it. Most Stormcloaks didn’t favor the bow. He found himself actually feeling a bit nervous for once as he realized he had a chance.

He grabbed the crate, hauling it onto his back quickly and he took the steps down rather fast making the wood pound against his back. He was going to have bruises from it, that was for sure but his sense of close freedom overrode his pain. He rounded the stairs and passed a drying rack to finally see the docks of Windhelm. It reeked of fish and he could see Argonians mingling around, carrying large boxes and shipping crates from a nearby boat but that wasn’t what interested him. He looked for a way out.

There was a tree, to his left, and a stone wall but there was no one near it and his heart began to race. That could be it. That could be his way out.

He went down the steps, his eyes locked on it when he stumbled a bit from not looking at his footing. He caught himself but not without drawing attention.

“Careful,” a voice said and he turned, his heart plummeting when it did. He didn’t see the Stormcloak soldier, a long greatsword hung on his back, and they stood looking towards the tree. From behind him, there was another guard and he caught sight of the blue colors again and with a damn bow.

He swallowed, despite his throat feeling dry. He could make a break for it but that would alert the entire guard and he’d never be able to outrun them, even with a head start. He could go hide but he didn’t know the Eastmarch lands. Falkreath, it was easy. If he wanted to avoid his father, he scaled a tree which was always close due to the expansive forest that covered his Hold or climbed up the rocky hillsides until he hit past the alpine treeline. Here, he knew none of the landscape. He could see trees but they were sparse and the forest didn’t start until it was well up the mountain slopes leaving a wide open plain that he would have to run across.

He just couldn’t get a break and he slumped back a bit, feeling utterly defeated. At the Blue Palace, he had accepted his defeat because it never felt like he was trapped. He could have always found a way to escape and even if he didn’t, he had been free to roam the Palace as he pleased. Here, he was caged. He wasn’t given a choice except submission and he hated how Balgruuf’s bitching about refusing to be complacent was now making him ashamed at how he was before.

He leaned against the wall awkwardly, the crate digging into his spine but he just stopped caring. He was just utterly depressed.

The Stormcloak soldier who was near him was now giving him a suspicious look and they moved, coming over to him. He put his head down, his eyes on the stones.

“Are you lost?” they said in a rather demanding tone. He frowned but he didn’t resist them. Not anymore.

“I’m…” he coughed, his throat utterly dry and his voice cracked a bit. “I’m trying to find an Argonian.”

“There’s lots of Argonians here,” the guard said. “Who are you looking for?”

He gave a weak shrug. “Scouts… Scouts something?”

The guard raised his head a bit. “Ah. Scouts-Many-Marshes. He should be near the East Empire Company.”

He frowned. “I… don’t know where that is.”

“Come along,” the guard said and as they moved, he followed. He kept his head down, ignoring the looks he got from the dock workers and he heard an Argonian scoff when they saw him.

“About time their kind got to work,” he heard them say but he didn’t dwell on it. The soldier led him to an Argonian who paused chopping wood, his axe being lowered.

“Scouts,” the guard said. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” the Argonian said and the guard left them. He focused on him and Siddgeir sighed, meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

He let the crate slide off his back, the wood scraping his skin but he didn’t react. He let it hit the ground, moving to push it so the markings Niranye made were exposed and he pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket, holding it out for the Argonian.

He took it, unfolding the paper and he slowly sighed. “Ah. Niranye has a crate to go out. I guess I should have figured that out.”

He didn’t say anything. He merely looked mournfully to the mountains, his bones aching for his home. He fucking missed Falkreath.

“What’s in the crate?” the Argonian asked and it took him a minute to realize he was being addressed. He shrugged, licking his dry lips.

“A bunch of junk,” he said in a low voice. The Argonian smiled at his comment.

“Heh, it usually is,” he said. “Tell Niranye I’ll get it sent out on the next boat to Blacklight.”

He nodded and turned to leave before he paused. “Thanks,” he said. Not that he meant it but it just felt like something to say.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He frowned and turned back to look at the Argonian. He was at a loss and the dock worker gave him a sympathetic smile before he went to the crate and pulled off the slings. He held them out for him and his face flushed red in embarrassment. He took it, not meeting his eyes.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Have a good day, Land-Strider,” the Argonian said, turning to the crate and he clutched the leather tight, moving to leave the docks. He avoided the guards, making his way back to the steps and when he got to the giant doors he grabbed the handle but he couldn’t go in. He pressed his forehead to the wood, letting out a long, exhausted sigh and he just couldn’t convince himself to go on.

The Empire had promised him they would always have his back if he provided loyalty. That the coin would flow. That they were what was right. He had done as they asked, even when the coin was cut in half and he was forced to look elsewhere due to their incompetence. He dined with the Thalmor. He let them use his mill, take his ore, and march their armies. And for all he had done, this was what he was left with.

He was a prisoner and he found himself beginning to shake. It wasn’t fucking fair.

He became angry, his emotions tumbling and he reacted by kicking the giant door to the city, knocking some of the stinking fish off the drying rack and pulling his amulet of Zenithar off his neck. He clutched it so tight the carvings indented his hand and he wanted to throw the damn thing and his entire fucking concept of loyalty and the fucking divines away but he somehow couldn’t. When he came down from his fit he slowly put his amulet back on, defeated once again and he went back to Niranye’s stall.

She watched him walk behind and he ignored her look and the look of the woman from the produce stand as he grabbed his hammer and went to another crate. He struggled with the nails but got them off and he repeated what he had done before. He just did his work.

She came up to him while he was finishing and she brought her hand down in front of his face making him stop. She was holding a slice of eidar cheese. He didn’t take it.

“Eat, Siddgeir,” she said in a soft tone. He looked away. His stomach hurt but not for food. She sighed and placed the piece down on top of the crate and he still didn’t react.

“Stick out your hand,” she said and he did not do as she said. “Siddgeir.”

He flushed. After a few minutes he finally did and he was expecting food when cold, heavy coins were placed on his palm. He stared and finally he looked up at her, confused.

“That’s your pay,” she said. “For the day.”

He looked to the septims, his fingers closing around them for a second before he dropped them by the slice of cheese.

“I don’t need your money,” he said in a low, raspy tone. She sighed and reached down, collecting the coins into a small stack.

“Take it,” she said. “Unless you want a lump sum at the end of the week.”

“I don’t want your money,” he repeated but she ignored him, moving back to stand at her stall. He wanted to take the coins and throw them at her but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He instead knocked the small stack over, the septims scattering on the top of the crate.

When he finished, he dumped another small load beside her, moving to once again seal up the absolute junk that had been in the crate and haul it to the docks when she stopped him.

“You’re done for the day.”

He tried not to look grateful about it. She looked to the coins, moving to pick them up again and she held the small pile up once more.

“Do you want this now or at the end of the week?”

He said nothing and she sighed, putting the coins in her pocket and she took the piece of cheese.

“At the end of the week then.”

He left, moving down past the graveyard and his stomach ached so badly he had to pause. He regretted not taking the piece of cheese. And as he neared the Palace, he regretted not taking the coins. But he had some sliver of pride still left in him. He wouldn’t take her pity money despite the fact he could really use it.

He had to wait for his guard to come back and he hung near a dark alley that veered off from the courtyard, sitting on a barrel as he did. When his guard finally came he joined him, following him silently back to his cell where he was shoved inside and left alone.

His cellmate was sharpening a wooden spoon near him and she paused but he didn’t look to her. He went to his corner, flopped down, and let out a long sigh. His sleep that night was restless and he got up several times, his back killing him and his head pounding from the work he had done. He took off his robes as the fur collar was making him sweat uncontrollably and his stomach pains made him double over and he finally had to relent.

He’d take the fucking cheese tomorrow. And the coin. But he wasn’t going to like it.

 

\-------

 

“I want my money,” he said to her first thing. She looked to him, shocked, before she reached into her pocket. She produced ten septims and held them out flat on her palm, almost like daring him to take them which made him flush. He took them, fuming as he did and he moved to the crates after, grabbing his hammer to start working and pretend he hadn’t begged like a dog. 

She watched him and he ignored her, working again until she went back to focusing on her stall. However, he was having trouble that morning. His stomach ached from not eating. He tried to act like nothing was wrong but his stomach kept burning until he bent over slightly, shaking from the pain. He hadn’t felt pains like that since he was a kid and he grit his teeth, trying to recall what he did when that happened.

It took him a minute before he remembered. He used to go and steal his father’s food. That option was missing for him. Or he’d go eat pinecones like a fucking squirrel, an option unavailable again. He cursed everything in existence, pressing his fingers hard against the pounding he felt on the bridge of his nose when Niranye approached him. He sobered up, not looking to her and she set down a piece of bread near him.

He didn’t touch it. He was not a charity case. But as his stomach ate itself and his head pounded more his resistance wore down. But he still didn’t move. Not until her back was turned at her stall and he was sure no one could see. Then he wolfed it down, which of course was a mistake. It made him feel sick but he kept it down and even though his stomach still ached and his head pounded, it did make him feel better.

Slowly he began to work again, his eyes hurting a bit as he did from his headache and she came back to him not long after. She left another piece of bread. He refused to touch it again until he was absolutely sure she wasn’t looking at him. Then he ate it just as before making his stomach groan. 

It probably wasn’t the best thing for him to be eating like that but something in his stomach was all that he really needed. She did it throughout the day, slowly feeding him and he wouldn’t acknowledge it until she wasn’t near him. He was being manipulated into it, he knew, but at the same time it was better than nothing or the raw potatoes constantly being thrown into his cell for him to split between him and that traitor of a steward he once had.

In the afternoon, as he readied to once again drag a crate to the docks to the Argonian she dealt with, she stopped him.

“Here,” she said, holding out a bottle of mead. He stared at it, not moving. “Can you take this and toss it out?”

He frowned but said nothing.

“It’s Black-Briar,” she commented. “I can’t ever sell this so it might as well get thrown out.”

He flushed and slowly took the bottle, stuffing it into his pocket after he did. She left him to go back standing at her stall, sorting through some necklaces and he walked off, the crate hurting his back and the bottle of mead rubbing against his side. He made it down past the grey quarter and to the landing outside the doors before he stopped and dropped the crate just as he did last time. He pulled out the bottle of mead, staring at it and he was left with a dilemma.

She was doing this on purpose and he pressed his lips thin as he stared at the bottle of Black-Briar mead. On one hand, he could just throw it out. After all, he hated being manipulated and this was real fucking manipulation. The bread had been one thing but this was just slapping him in the face. He did not accept handouts. He was a fucking Jarl. 

On the other hand, it was Black-Briar mead. The thought alone made him ache. He could taste the honey in his mouth and his hands trembled at the prospect of consuming it. But that would mean he let Niranye win.

But throwing it away seemed like such a waste. He could drink it and lie and say he didn’t but somehow he felt she would find out. He flushed deeply in shame as he stared at the bottle. He was being manipulated by food now and it made his ego burn from embarrassment. A Jarl, former or not, did not obey someone just because they offer a drink and the realization she acted as if he would made him flush deeply in anger.

He almost threw the bottle against the wall but he couldn’t even bring himself to do that. Instead, he sat down on the crate, glaring at the mead before he set it down by the salmon rack he had attacked the day before. If no one picked it up by the time he came then… then he’d take it. Not to drink but to dispose of properly. Or sell. Black-Briar mead could net him at least fifty coins.

If he fucking had the speechcraft for it. But as of late, it felt like that had gone down. Like he had lost his touch.

He rubbed his face, his back aching, his head throbbing, his stomach still churning from consuming six pieces of bread and he remained on the crate for a while, listening to the sounds of the docks below. Finally, when he was back into a miserable mood he moved and picked up the crate again, going down to Niranye’s contact.

The Argonian seemed to smile at seeing him. Or so he thought. He didn’t know, he was never good at reading the expressions of the beast races. He dropped the crate, pulled out a folded note and handed it to Scouts-Many-Marshes who opened it to read.

“Ah. I’ll see her crate gets shipped off,” he said in a rather kind voice. “Tell her it should be in Black Marsh come next week.”

He shrugged. “m’kay,” he muttered.

The Argonian chuckled. “May the ground be warm where you walk, Land-Strider,” he said and Siddgeir took that to mean he could leave. He slowly made his way back up the stairs and found at the top the bottle of Black-Briar mead was still there. He picked it up, staring at it for a long time before he lost it and smashed it against the side of the city. 

He stood for a moment, watching the mead drip down the faded stones before he ran a hand through his hair, looking to the sky. Three large walls loomed above him before it opened to blue sky and he felt like he was trapped in a crate. He eventually went back to Niranye, miserable, and he fell down on his stool, picking up his hammer to pry at another box. He felt the Altmer’s eyes on him.

“Did you dispose of the mead?” she asked in a light tone.

“Yeah,” he said, exhausted, as he pulled at a nail. “It’s against the wall of the city.”

She frowned. “Against the wall?”

He threw down his hammer, not able to take it and he went to her. “I’m not a fucking charity case,” he spat. She stared at him and slowly her lips pressed together in a thin line. She leaned against her stall.

“Did I ever say you were?” she said and his face blazed red.

“I don’t need you fucking manipulating me into eating,” he said, furious. “If I choose to starve, that’s my fucking business.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You are a really angry thing, aren’t you?”

He was losing his grip again. He pulled out the coins he had taken earlier, slamming them onto the stand beside her.

“Fuck you,” he said. “Fuck you, fuck this city, and fuck this Hold. I’m done.”

He began to leave and she watched him, not saying anything. He left by the exit near her stall, fuming as he went down the steps and when he got to Candlehearth Hall he found himself looking to the doors.

Fuck it.

Fuck it, he didn’t care. If they killed him, so what. No one was going to care. He didn’t fucking care. And he was sure that where ever he went - Oblivion or Aetherius - it would be better than Windhelm. 

He pushed his way out the gates, ignoring the soldiers who were chatting leisurely as they stared out at the river and he walked down the long, stone corridor that led to the decrepit city.

Only the farther he got, the more he slowed down and by the time he reached the stables, he found himself hesitating to go further. He looked back, waiting for a line of soldiers to come but none did and he found himself at a loss. He looked to the hills of Eastmarch, how foreign and dull they appeared to him.

Now he had a choice. To either leave or swallow his dignity, pride, and sanity, and go back into the city.

He ran a hand through his hair, distressed, and a voice came to him.

“Hello friend,” it said and he raised his head, his eyes soon finding the source of the voice. It was an Altmer carrying a few halters. “Do you need directions?” he asked.

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, trying to play off his misery as nothing. “No, I… just needed some air,” he pointed back at the city. “Too many people.”

“I know that feeling,” the Altmer said, adjusting the halters slung on his arm. “I haven’t seen you around. Did you just move to Windhelm?”

“…Yeah,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Ah, where from?” the Altmer asked and he hesitated. When he didn’t answer, he had hoped the weird elf would drop it but instead he continued to wait.

It finally bothered him enough that he just lied. “I’m from a farm,” he said. “Near… Whiterun.”

“Farm boy!” the Altmer smiled. “I take it the big city wasn’t what you were expecting, hey?”

“No,” he shrugged, losing interest in the conversation. He looked back at Windhelm, the city practically mocking him and he closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. He quickly looked to the wilds, as if it would make things better but it didn’t. He was trapped and his eyes moved down in submission at the thought.

The Altmer was speaking again. “You know, when I first came here…”

He turned around and started walking back towards Windhelm, the Altmer’s voice dying down as he did. He did the long walk of shame back, utterly defeated as he did and when he hit the gates a hand fell on him.

“Trying to escape?” one of the Stormcloaks said. He flushed.

“I just needed some air.”

The hand moved and suddenly it was around his throat making him stop. The gloved, leather hand squeezed a bit, reminding him of what he could do and he froze, his eyes shaking a bit as he felt his air become restricted enough that it was uncomfortable.

“Next time you need some air, do it within the city,” the guard warned. “Or else you’ll meet the end of my sword.”

He didn’t reply and the soldier shoved him back. The other one grabbed the door, both watching as he went in and he tucked his hands under his arms as he went to the Palace of the Kings courtyard. He slipped into the dark alley, sitting on the barrel he had been on before and he just sat, listless.

How did anyone do this? How could anyone live trapped in an enclosed space with nowhere to go? It was less than two weeks since he had been brought there and he already felt like his mind was cracking. For a week, he had gotten good meals. Now that was no longer available to him. Now he was allowed outside but only if he did labour to someone who treated him like he was some sort of pitiful beast. He didn’t have any freedom, didn’t have any comfort and he found himself pulling at the amulet around his neck.

It didn’t give him any guidance or reassurance and he found himself raking his fingers through his hair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was going insane.

His guard found him several hours later and he was taken back to his cell while he hesitated to go in. He was kicked in, for good measure, and his guard slammed the door after, staring at him, then the others for a moment before he left. He looked to his corner and for the first time since he stopped talking to her, he looked to Nenya.

She was sitting on her pile of straw, waiting until the guard left before she brought her hands up and began tugging at the pelt that was supposed to be her blanket, pulling long strips from it.

He watched her. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low tone. She didn’t respond. “Nenya?”

She paused at her name, her eyes moving to meet his for a second and he found himself longing just for her to bloody well treat him like she did before. They weren’t friends but by the gods, she still talked to him.

Instead, she went back to what she was doing and he found himself awkwardly watching her before he went to lie in the corner.

He pulled his amulet off and dug a small hole, stuffing it in before he buried it. He no longer needed it. The gods abandoned him and he was alone. 

He ended up falling asleep, his dreams dark, when he suddenly snapped awake in the heart of the night, pushing himself up in shock. He could hear voices and he rubbed his face, aching.

“Mama, look! Snow! It leads right out!” he heard a voice say but it was immediately shushed and low whispers came. He frowned, trying to hear more but he couldn’t make out the words and eventually he gave up, falling back down to go back to sleep. It was none of his business.

Only he didn’t hit that deep sleep he usually did. He drifted between being hyper aware and just having his eyes closed and slightly relaxing. He tossed and turned but it offered no comfort and he even tried sleeping in a different position.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. And when morning came he was more exhausted than anything.

His guard still came.

“Get up,” he was ordered and he did so with aching limbs. “I said get up!”

“I am,” he growled and he was backhanded for it. It was light, though, like a woman’s slap but he still cringed. “Fucking Stendarr, I’m up!”

“Come on,” his guard said in a stern tone. “The High King wants to see you.”

Great.

 

—

 

He was brought into a small room off the Grand Hall where maps of Skyrim lay scattered on the walls and desks. A big map of Eastmarch and its major landmarks was adorning the Eastern wall but that wasn’t what Ulfric was concentrating on. He was looking at a giant map of Haafingar with Galmar beside him. Both didn’t look too happy.

He was shoved towards them making him grit his teeth as he came to the middle of the room.

“Here he is, your Majesty,” his guard said.

“Thank you, soldier, you may wait in the Grand Hall,” Ulfric said, waving him off and his guard bowed deep before he left. Siddgeir said nothing and he looked to the walls before back to Ulfric. Ulfric paid no attention to him for a moment before he took a small silver figure of a man on a horse and set it down in Haafingar.

“Here,” he said. Galmar didn’t seem pleased.

“That is not a good vantage point.”

“It has to do,” he said. “Those witch elves will not tread far into the forests. And if they do, we can burn them out.”

Galmar crossed his arms, his nose wrinkling before he looked up to Siddgeir and he flushed. He snorted, his eyes running down him and it made him shift, suddenly becoming self-conscious.

“Well, well. You’re looking more like a mongrel every day,” he said and his face burned at the insult. “If we gave you a collar, you’d fit right in with the stray dogs in the grey quarter.”

He didn’t respond but he grit his teeth hard. Ulfric finally looked to him, his eyes judging him as well but he didn’t comment on his state. He instead leaned up, crossing his arms.

“I hear you tried to leave yesterday,” he said in a cool tone. He flushed and looked to the floor. “I didn’t generously allow you access to the city for you to spit in my face over it.”

His voice was raspy when it came out. “I needed some air.”

“You got plenty of air in the courtyard,” Galmar shot back. He flushed and he wanted to come up with something but he couldn’t. He lowered his eyes and stared at the rug beneath him instead. “What, cat got your tongue now?”

“Galmar,” Ulfric said but his tone wasn’t sympathetic to him. He could feel that his eyes were on him but he didn’t speak. “You get one more chance, Siddgeir. After that, your head will be on a pike.”

He said nothing.

“Do I make myself clear?”

He still didn’t speak and Galmar slammed his fist on the table making him flinch.

“Answer your King,” he said and he met their eyes. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to do anything but he had no power and he finally spoke.

“Yes… Your Majesty.”

Ulfric seemed pleased at his tone and he looked back down to the floor, utterly humiliated. “Galmar, call his guard.”

His second in command made a gruff noise but did as he said, moving to the Grand Hall. He yelled at the soldier who immediately came and he went back to Ulfric’s side, crossing his arms as Siddgeir’s soldier came to stand beside him.

“Your Majesty,” he said and Ulfric went back to looking at the map of Haafingar.

“Take him to the courtyard,” he said. “Then tie him to one of the posts.”

Siddgeir’s head snapped up and the guard even frowned. “Tie him to the post, your Majesty?”

Galmar began to smile a cruel smile and Siddgeir found his blood running cold. Being tied to a post was never a good thing and he looked to Ulfric, mentally panicking over what the High King was intending. Ulfric merely moved another silver man on a horse on the map.

“Fifty lashes,” he said, his eyes only moving up once to meet with his and he stilled at the look. “That should make you remember not to disrespect myself or the soldiers.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. But he was terrified. His arm was grabbed making him flinch and he caught sight of Galmar again who was smirking. He waved at him as he was dragged out and his guard hauled him down the Grand Hall.

“Please,” he tried. “Don’t.”

His guard looked back at him. “You want to resist?” he asked in a low, threatening tone and he said nothing. He could do nothing.

By the gods, he should have ran for the wilds of Eastmarch. How he should have.

He was dragged outside.

“Men!” his guard said, making the few Stormcloak soldiers in the courtyard look to him. “We’ve got some target practice.”

He swallowed the heavy lump in his throat.

 

—

 

The worst thing wasn’t the lashes. It was the anticipation of the hit. When the guards figured out he tensed up during their rhythmic whipping, they began to play with him making him endure the full force of a hit. They would whip his back, wait as he tensed, and when he couldn’t hold it any longer they would hit him again.

He wish he could say he was silent during it. But he wasn’t. Though the shame and humiliation was enough to put him in his place. When he was untied and allowed to fall into a heap beside the training dummy, they didn’t mock him as he trembled and wiped his tears. But they did make him get up.

His guard even made him go to Niranye who stared at him as he was shoved at her stall.

“What happened?” she asked, looking across to Hillevi who was staring at him as well. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and went to grab his hammer. It was still where he threw it down the previous day. He did struggle to sit on the stool, his back still in pain and he sat awkwardly but he didn’t say anything about it. He tried pulling the nails out of the crate but he could barely concentrate as the wounds on him were excruciating.

Finally, Niranye came to him and set down three healing potions. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Drink them,” she said. He pressed his lips thin. “Siddgeir, don’t be stupid! Drink them!”

He refused.

She braced herself on the crate, looking at him with concern which made him burn with embarrassment and she pushed one of the potions towards him. “Please,” she stressed. “I can see the blood soaking your clothes from your back. Just drink them.”

He inhaled through his nose, exhaling with a slightly trembling breath before his hand came up, shaking as it took one of the potions. It tasted terrible. Like moldy mushrooms mixed with dried flowers. He finished one, his mouth feeling numb as he did and she pushed another towards him. He didn’t take it.

“Siddgeir,” she said. He put down the empty bottle. “Drink.”

“I don’t want your pity or help,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. She folded her arms, pressing a single finger against her forehead.

“Stop it. Stop fucking bringing that up,” she said and he turned pink in embarrassment. “Look, Siddgeir, if you want to let the Stormcloaks kill you, fine. But I will not allow it when you are under me, understand? You are bleeding. Badly, if I might add. And you are going to drink these health potions to heal yourself.”

“If I refuse?” he said, miserable. She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up.

“You are so fucking dramatic!” she said. “No wonder you were a Jarl!”

He looked to the ground. The last thing he needed was a peasant insulting him but considering he was just beaten like a dog, he supposed he wasn’t even above them now was he? He looked at the hammer in his hands, the metal cool against his skin and he tried to pull another nail out but he didn’t have the strength. He still attempted.

“Siddgeir,” she said one last time and he stopped, his eyes boring holes into the crate before him. “Stop being a miserable bastard and drink the potion.”

He finally listened. Only because he had no other choice. He wanted to refuse but that was getting him nowhere other than insulted and in trouble every other day. So he did it. He gave up. And he took the potions, drinking them quietly. She seemed satisfied and she reached into her pocket, pulling out twenty septims.

“Here,” she said, putting the stack in front of him. “Your pay from the other day and yesterday.”

He slowly took the coins, the metal heavy in his hand. She put another ten septims on the crate.

“This is for today.”

He took it, cradling the amount in his hands.

“Tomorrow,” she said, pausing. “Tomorrow, when you come, you will get another ten. For now… take your time.”

He said nothing. She touched his shoulder briefly, squeezing it slightly before she went back to stand in front of her stall and he was left with a handful of septims that he didn’t want and his pride in ruins.

When he was making his way back to the palace he ran into the woman he had seen before. The one whose skin was filthy and raw with lifeless hair and dirt-stained fingernails. Even though her eyes drooped in a strange way she somehow seemed less frightening than the soldiers who had beat him and he paused before her.

Their eyes met and she stuck out her hand. “Talos rewards those who give, you know,” she said, a line she obviously had practiced over and over. He stared at her, exhausted, his entire psyche broken and he went to her and fished out all thirty septims from his pocket. He dumped it into her hands making her stare in shock.

“Here,” he said, his voice broken. “Take it.”

“What?” she said, her fingers curling around the amount. “This is-”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear. He was just tired and he left her, walking back to the Palace of the Kings to wait for his guard. His robes were sticking to his back, the blood having dried and when he was pushed into his cell he struggled to lift his clothes over his head. He felt some of the wounds open and he dropped his filthy, once proud robes onto the dirt.

He felt eyes on him but he didn’t look back. He struggled to lay down, his back hurting from an immense, throbbing pain but he couldn’t do anything about it.

He should have ran. He should have ran. And he repeated the line over and over in his head until he finally fell asleep.

 

 

\-------


	13. False Ships (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misfire as Follows: That i gota sée plz

"Madena!" Skald's voice shouted making her pause. She looked up to Frorkmar who gave her a look of sympathy, turning back to his map. She sighed and set down her book, begrudingly walking out to face the old Jarl.

He was standing with a letter and he turned it, shoving it at her making her frown. "What?"

"What is this?" he snapped. "Some sort of Imperial code? Thalmor spy lingo?"

She frowned, gently taking the paper from him and she looked down. It seemed to be an ordinary list of items. It had amounts of ingots, leather with the words wolves/bears/deer next to it and for some reason a large number of wanted cabbages but nothing more.

Nothing save for a scribbled note at the bottom. That was the only thing that made her furrow her brows.

"That i gota sée plz," she said. "What?"

"What is that?" he demanded and Frorkmar came out from where he had been, moving to see what the commotion was. Jod let out a sigh from beside Skald.

"We've been trying to figure that out," he said. "I think it's just someone's scribbling. About a goat."

"A goat?"

"Well, they spelled it wrong," Jod said. Madena frowned.

"That I goat see plez?" she said. "That doesn't make sense."

Frorkmar frowned deeply. "Maybe they meant goatse."

"What's a goatse?" Madena looked at him and he went red.

"It's... uh..."

"It's not a goatse," Jod said quickly.

"What in oblivion is a goatse?" Skald snapped and the two men went silent. "Jod!"

"Uh..."

"It's nothing, Jarl Skald," Frorkmar said with pink cheeks. Madena raised a brow. It was obviously something.

"Well, if it's nothing, then you can tell me!"

"Uh."

"Uhm."

"I-It's..."

"It's a ship," Madena finally said making them both pause and look to her. She nodded, confident in her lie and she gave the note back to Skald. "Yes, a ship. The Goat Sea. I believe this is a list of supplies for a ship."

He stared at her for a moment before he began folding the note. "What sort of ship?"

“Possibly a merchant ship?” she said. “Or maybe it’s an Imperial one. The list is odd but nothing states it’s Imperial or Thalmor.” She shrugged as all eyes fell on her. “We should be cautious, Skald, but not rash.”

“Hmph,” he said. “Cautious? When those damn Imperials could come sailing right up to my docks? Not likely! Jod! Get together a crew to go sail the bay! Report any vessels!”

“Y-Yes, my Jarl,” he said, looking to them both and Madena raised her brows again, turning to leave when Skald said her name.

“Madena?”

“Yes?”

“Good work,” he complimented and she sighed, moving back to her small potions area. Frorkmar followed, coming up to her after, his voice low.

“A ship?”

She flushed. “Could you think of anything better?”

“W-Well… No.”

She gave him a look. “I’m not chasing down grocery lists, Frorkmar. And the bay does need to be checked.”

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a breath and she watched him for a moment. “Thanks, Madena.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said before she paused. “But Frorkmar?”

“Yes?”

“What is a goatse?”

He went red.

“Trust me on this, Madena,” he said. “You do not want to know.”


	14. Fifteen Kisses (Various)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> So there's this writing prompt over on tumblr (from the blog writing-prompts-list, to give credit where credit is due) that has fifteen kisses to write out. Basically I thought it was really cute and I'd love to see what people come up with for different Skyrim characters.
> 
>  
> 
> The pairings are as follows: Brynjolf/Karliah, Ancano/Mirabelle, Elisif/Rulindil, Ancarion being Tortured, Melaran/Sybille, and Vilkas/Ria. I really need to write more of that fucking nerd Ancarion.

Cheek Kiss

 

“Well, maybe it’s time I turn in,” Delvin muttered as he set down his tankard despite it being half full. “Got a job tomorrow…”

“Goodnight Delvin,” Karliah said in a soft voice and he leaned down, kissing the air beside her cheek making her smile a bit.

“Night love. Don’t stay up too late with these thieving scoundrels.”

Brynjolf smiled into his mead. “Get lost, Delvin.”

He waved and headed towards the back of the Flagon, the crowd thinning as some of the other members left to the Cistern leaving only a few of the chairs occupied and Vekel doing a last call. Vex slide from her chair, pushing past Dirge who frowned at her.

“I said I was sorry,” he tried but he was ignored as she walked off and Karliah looked into her own mug, her mead almost finished. Beside her, Brynjolf took a long drink.

“Well, lass. Looks like it’s down to two.”

She smiled at him. “The Nightingales always are the last ones to leave the bar.”

He cocked a brow. “Is that so? What, did Nocturnal grant us a better tolerance to drinking?”

“Hardly,” she smirked. “But it does seem we always have more to celebrate. Especially now.” Her eyes moved to scanning the outskirts of the bar where the shops were set up. The merchants were asleep but their scones were still lit sending a warm glow over the waters before the Flagon. Every table of the bar now had food on it, exotic nuts from Elsweyr and Morrowind and Vekel’s jar was full of septims and jewels in tips.

It wasn’t hard to see that the Guild’s wealth had grown and Karliah smiled as she leaned back against her chair, slowly finishing off her mead. It was all thanks to their leader and the defeat of Mercer, something she never dreamed she would see and Brynjolf let out a sigh beside her.

“I have to agree. I never thought I would see good times again.” He reached into his pocket and she watched him, her purple eyes trying to focus as her drinks were starting to affect her vision a bit. He pulled out a small coin purse and opened it, sifting through bright jewels and gold. He pulled out a few diamonds and showed her making her smile. “Just picked these up last week off a carriage. Can you believe it? I’ve never seen a single flawless diamond let alone three.”

“Nocturnal is blessing us,” she held up her empty tankard and he hit it with a smile before he put his purse away save for a few coins for Vekel.

“I suppose I should head off too. Tomorrow will bring new jobs and we should be ready for them.”

“Yes, I suppose I should get back to the Hall as well,” she said, reaching inside her pocket to pull out some septims. She didn’t notice Brynjolf leaning over, mimicking Delvin and she turned sharply, her lips hitting his making her freeze and him stiffen before he pulled back.

She covered her mouth and turned a brilliant shade of pink while he stared at her, his mouth falling open a bit. He gave an awkward laugh, not meeting her eyes and he scratched the back of his head. “S-Sorry, Karliah. I-I didn’t mean… I meant to, well… Delvin…”

She continued to stare at him in shock and finally he coughed, well beyond embarrassed. “Bye.”

He left quickly leaving her sitting at the table and she found herself squirming a bit, looking around to make sure no one saw. Vekel had his back turned and Tonilia was dozing off in her seat making her relax a little. Still, she ran her gloved fingers over her lips, flushing like a young maiden. It was clearly an accident on both their parts.

So why was her heart hammering so hard?

She got up, dropping a few coins before she scurried off back to the exit. Clearly, she needed to lay off the mead.

\--

Shoulder, Spine, and Throat

 

She laid on his sheets, sweat still clinging to her body and as her breathing began to relax he shifted beside her making her stir. She moved to try and see him but he pushed her back down making her eyes open fully. “Ancano-?”

His lips touched her shoulder making her stop and she let out a soft giggle as she laid back down. He left small kisses going from her shoulder to her neck before he stopped and lightly bit her nape, growling as he did making her tense and bite her lip, cheeks turning red.

“Ancano… Don’t tell me you want to go again.”

“I can always go again,” he muttered against her neck, his fingers moving down her body and she shivered, letting out another giggle like she was a teenager. “That’s the superiority of mer such as myself. We can go all night.”

“So can Nords and Redguards,” she said, trying to look over her shoulder at him but he moved to kissing from her neck down her back. “Don’t get on that stupid subject of your place in the world again because you can’t win.”

He dug his nails into her backside making her squirm and he was inside her again, pulsing, and she gasped. She gripped his bed sheets, arching her back and he leaned over her, kissing her throat before he nipped at it.

“What makes you say that? It’s a fact,” he muttered. “Just like it’s a fact that you, Mirabelle Ervine, Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold, look your most glorious when you are riding my cock.”

“A-Ancano!” she begged as he thrust into her slowly to draw it out. “I-I just came!”

“You can come again,” he muttered, his teeth sinking into her shoulder and she tried to protest but his hands moving over her body as well as his thrusting increasing left her without a thought to deny it. She moved onto her knees, her face burying in his pillow and quickly she started edging towards an orgasm.

She was almost there when he pulled out making her gasp and she turned to look at him with wild eyes. “W-What are you doing-?”

He grabbed her and flipped her over, pinning her to his bed making her breath hitch and his lips lingered over hers, his cock sliding between her folds but careful not to touch where she needed it. “Who is the superior race, Mirabelle?” he said with a dark grin and she swallowed, her heart pounding in tune with her damned arousal. “Tell me and I’ll get you off.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You bastard.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She tried to fight him, to rub against his cock but he refused to give her satisfaction leaving her twisting and panting in frustration. “Y-You don’t fight fair!”

He chuckled. “This isn’t about what’s fair. This is about you admitting who is your better.”

She struggled again but it was useless and she fell against his bed panting as their eyes met. She licked her lips.

“You are, the Thalmor,” she finally said making him kiss the side of her mouth. “You bastard!”

“I prefer lover, but whatever you wish to call me…” he said in an amused tone before he was in her again, pounding her into the straw making her cry out and her legs came to try and wrap around his waist. She couldn’t meet his thrusts back and her heightened arousal combined with his lips on her throat sent her over the edge, her back arching and body clenching around him.

When he was done he pulled out making her whine and he was back to lying beside her, an arm falling over his eyes. She panted and turned over, grabbing his pillow to bury her face into it.

“No more…” she said. “I-I’m too exhausted.”

He sighed from beside her. “Fine. No more for tonight,” he said before he paused and she found herself turning to look at him. “In the morning…”

“In the morning,” she agreed and he pulled his blanket up over her, his fingers lightly running over her hip and she closed her eyes, her breathing falling back to normal again. They could do it again in the morning and hopefully Tolfdir and his class would not be back before then.

\--

Fingertips and Forehead

 

“Were you followed?” she asked in a nearly breathless voice, the hem of her dress soaked from the mud and wet snow and he shook his head, his black eyes on her. She sighed and pulled off her cloak, shaking the white clumps from it underneath the outcrop before her hand ran over the wool. It was soaked and she let out a sigh.

He moved to pull off his but she shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I won’t be wearing it for much longer anyways,” she said before she looked to him. “Right?”

“Right,” he finally spoke and he pulled the black hood of his robes up, moving to look out at the darkening landscape. Once he was satisfied he took her hand making her flush and he led her down the rocky slope, stopping a few times to catch her when she hopped off a boulder or pull her close when she slipped.

Finally they came to a cave and he led her inside, the steady snowfall echoing off the walls making her look back over her shoulder but he ushered her in further. She followed, holding his hand tight before the cave began to open and she stopped to stare in shock at the sight before her.

There was a lush grove inside the cave, thick green plants and flowers covering the surface of every rock and she nearly tripped as she went forward, unable to pry her eyes away. “R-Rulindil… what?”

“Some of our soldiers cleared it out a few days ago,” he said. “I heard from Elenwen about it.”

“But… how?” she turned to him making him frown. “It’s turning into a blizzard out there. Everything is dead. How can…?”

“Spriggons,” he said simply. She closed her mouth. Of course. Those creatures could make flowers bloom in even the deepest snow and she had to look around some more, captivated by the hidden grove. There was a dark pool of water in what seemed like the center and a creek flowing into it making her throat suddenly feel parched. She went to it, wanting to take a drink but a hand came out and took her wrist making her stop.

She turned to see the Thalmor Emissary before her, his black eyes locked on hers but his hands moved to taking both of hers into his own. She looked down at him; his hands were warm making her realize just how cold she actually was despite being a Nord and he lifted them up, breathing over them.

For some reason she found herself flushing and he gently kissed her fingertips. “Your hands are cold, My Grace.”

She swallowed. “Why don’t you warm them then?” she said in a dark tone, her personality shifting and he pushed her right hand open, kissing her palm. His lips moved down, trailing over her pulse but when they were about to go further she pulled away. “Enough.”

“Yes, my Grace.”

“Get on your knees,” she commanded as she tried to keep her face cold but her heart was pounding frantically in her chest. He did as she asked and she moved to stand before him, pushing his hood back. He didn’t break their eye contact, his body not moving and she dragged her nails down his cheek which was warm as well. She was curious on how but she could ask him later. Right now, she was his Mistress, his Grace, and he was damn well going to follow her command.

Still, she couldn’t help but be affectionate if just for a second and she leaned down, kissing his forehead making his eyes close. “Rulindil?”

He didn’t say anything but he shifted a bit.

“Did you bring the blindfold?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“You know, if you don’t want to-” she began but he cut her off.

“I do, Elisif. Trust me. I’ve had a rather long day.”

She smiled sympathetically. “So did I.”

He handed her a piece of black cloth and she laid it over his eyes before kissing his covered lids gently. “Remember, if you want to stop...”

“I will tell you.”

“Good,” she said before she tied the bandana tight. “And Rulindil?”

“Yes?”

“It’s My Grace,” she dug her nails into his skull making him lean back into it. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Never, My Grace.”

\--

Back of Hand Kiss

 

He didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was being approached by his men begging him for help making him pause in his reading. The next he was wearing a woman’s dress over his robes and being subjected to his men pretending to woo him. He would have killed them all if he didn’t need them to help commandeer their ship back to the isles.

So, here he was. Pretending to be a woman. Oh, how he was going to officially submit a nasty letter to Lady Elenwen over the crew she had given him for this job.

“No, no, you’re doing it all wrong!” his soldier, Telerion, snapped at his second in command who sighed in frustration. “You can’t just walk up to a woman like she’s some common Breton whore or Nordic fishwife. You need to be subtle about it! Skirt the room first and then approach her if she’s with a group chatting.”

The weary Thalmor Agent looked at him. “I am skirting the ‘room’, you twit!”

Telerion looked to him, crossing his arms. “Commander, is he skirting the room?”

Ancarion’s cheek twitch. “I don’t care,” he said making him frown.

“Commander, you agreed to help!”

“I agreed to help you all on important matters!” he snapped. “T-This… this is degrading!”

“But this is important!” Telerion stressed and Ancarion clenched his fists but held it in. “Commander, please!”

He muttered a slur if curses under his breath. Oh, Lady Elenwen might get two letters for this and he looked to Lendil who looked just as miserable as he was. “Lendil, you’re not skirting the ‘room’, you’re stomping around it.”

“Commander-!”

“See? I told you. It makes you look lower class, like your mother was a Bosmer,” Telerion said making the poor mer flush a deep, angry red. “Try it again! You’re never going to win her over acting like that!”

His poor Agent straightened, giving an absolute death glare to the mer before he walked casually around the boat, slowly coming up to Ancarion who watched him wearily. He moved to his side, their eyes meeting and both silently agreeing this was humiliating before he nodded at him. “Comm- er, Miss.”

“Lendil.”

“No, no, no!” Telerion snapped making them all groan, his other soldier rubbing the bridge of his nose as he stood to the side acting as a servant. “You don’t just waltz up to her and speak like that!”

“Well, obviously if I was in front of her I would act different!” Lendil spat but the lesser mer wasn’t convinced. He came forward, glaring at him.

“Would you? Or would you act like this and scare her off and every other potential woman of Alinor? They do gossip, you know. And if one of them found you unworthy then you might as well just go hunting for men like Rumare over there,” his thumb shot to the soldier behind him making him stiffen in shock and Ancarion blink. Rumare was gay? Lendil growled from beside him and turned making him look away from his soldier and to his second in command.

They stared at each other, Lendil with an intense anger and Ancarion found himself pursing his lips, rather intimidated. “Miss. You look lovely.”

“…Thanks,” he said awkwardly back.

“Kiss her hand now,” Telerion said making both glare at him.

“Are you insane?”

“You wanted to learn how to court! Well, we’re showing you!” he snapped back and Ancarion suddenly felt very out of place. He really just wanted to go back to reading his book in that fish-smelling shack and not have any part of him kissed by his damned men. He was halfway through the Poison book series and he would give anything to just turn back the clock and not get involved in this.

“Kiss her hand!”

“I’m not kissing the Commander’s hand!”

“Commander!”

He grit his teeth. “Please, just let me go back to reading.”

Telerion threw his hands up in frustration and Lendil rubbed his temples before he grabbed Ancarion’s hand, pulling him towards him making him stiffen. He brought it up to his lips, pretending to kiss it before he threw his arm back at him making him stumble. “There! Happy?”

Telerion’s cheek twitched. “That was rude!”

“Well, how would you do it?!”

Those words made Ancarion stiffen and he looked down at his soldier who raised his head up, accepting the challenge. Oh, gods, no. He immediately pulled the dress over his head, throwing it down. “T-This stupidity is over! Now!” he snapped making Lendil sigh in relief and Telerion frown.

“Commander…”

“I said now!” he shouted, his face turning red. “I just want to damn well read! Is that too much to ask?! Now, g-get back to your stations! There will be no more of this foolishness!”

His second in command immediately moved, grabbing his sword to tie to his side as he went to the dock edge and Rumare went to his place at the end of the boat. Only Telerion stayed, looking at him strangely which made him flush. “W-What?!”

“Commander.”

“What!” his voice nearly raised two octaves and his soldier hesitated before sighing.

“I would have done better if I was courting you.”

He struck him with electricity. Two letters be damned. He was going to request a promotion for this mess.

\--

Nose and Collar Kiss

 

“Sybille! Sybille, wait just a moment!” a voice called and the wizard slowed, pausing before her bedroom door as Melaran came to her out of breath. She stared at him, cheek twitching.

“I hope you’re not tired from a few stairs, Melaran,” she said in a cold tone before she moved into her bedroom, the darkened windows making her sigh in relief. He frowned and hesitated before following her in.

“N-No, of course not. Stairs are nothing to me,” he babbled and she ignored him as she went to her nightstand, taking a bottle of ‘wine’ from her dresser and filling up a goblet with it. It was starting to get low, she noted, meaning she would have to pay a visit to the dungeons. Either that or tap Falk when he was asleep but his blood always tasted too… common for her.

“…Of course, if it were stairs leading up a very high tower...”

She turned and stared at him. “Are you still talking?” He frowned but went silent and she sighed, feeling a bit guilty as she went and took a seat with her drink. “Sorry, Melaran. I suppose you do only get to talk freely when you’re around me.”

She could see him flush in embarrassment and she could practically feel how hot his blood was getting. It made her lick her lips. She had yet to sample his blood but only because his idiot employer had a rather finicky lock on their place. She did wonder though if he tasted as sweet as he was. She chuckled to herself and took a drink, making sure he didn’t see when she licked the rim.

“Why are you here, Melaran?”

“You forgot this,” he finally said and he held up a book. She didn’t recognize the cover.

“What book is that?”

“One of yours,” he simply said and she narrowed her eyes.

“Come here,” she curled her finger and he came towards her, holding the book to his chest rather tight. Now she was suspicious. “Melaran. What book is that?”

“One of yours,” he merely said again and she was growing tired of it. She set her goblet down, standing up to take it from him and he gave it to her rather quickly. She glared at him, turning it over to look at the page and before she could react he leaned down and kissed her on the nose.

She nearly dropped it in shock and her yellow eyes shot up to look at him. His mouth twisted into an uneasy grin and she stared him down. “S-Surprise… it’s… a gift…”

She merely continued to stare. Gods, he was an idiot. But somehow she couldn’t help but smile and she curled her finger, beckoning him to come closer. When he did she kissed his collar as it was the highest she could really go. “You naughty elf.”

He moved to kiss her properly but she stopped him. She really didn’t want him to taste the blood she had been consuming. “Wait. We’re not at that stage yet.”

He nodded and straightened, adjusting his robes. “Right. My apologies, Sybille. I… should have asked.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said as she turned the book over in her hands. It was a book on Mannimarco. How sweet. “Thank you, Melaran. I love what you’ve given me.”

He opened his mouth to say more when there was a yelling from downstairs. She didn’t need a spell to know who was doing it and she rolled her eyes. “Your master is calling, Melaran.”

He frowned. “Yes… I can hear.”

“Better go before he explodes,” she said in a dry tone. “Oh, how we all wish…”

“Right. Well, Sybille. I’m glad you like it,” he said with a bow and he was out of her room leaving her alone with her new book. She held it for a second before moving to set it beside her night table. She’d read it later when she was feeling tired. For now she needed nourishment and to enjoy her time before the next dawn.

Slowly she sank back down in her chair and she thought to the poor Altmer who served under Erikur. Maybe she should turn him, that way he could terrorize the bastard. Though drinking his blood would probably kill a vampire since it was no doubt as vile as he was. No matter. He didn’t have to. He could terrorize him in other ways.

She laughed to herself in her room as she began to think of them, her mind filling with terrible thoughts. Oh, how she loved being a creature of the night.

\--

Stomach and Hipbone Kiss

 

She watched him pull her boots off, fumbling a bit with the strings when they caught on her toes but he eventually got them off and dropped them to the floor, ignoring her giggling. His fingers moved up her dark skin, taking the hem of her underskirt and pulling and she covered herself in embarrassment when he moved to ripping it off with his teeth.

“Vilkas!” she tried to control her laughing but it was difficult. This was the second time he was bedding her and she still wasn’t fully relaxed with him. She found laughing helped overcome some of her shyness and jitters but she was still nervous and he could tell. He rand his hand down her leg trying to soothe her and she grabbed his pillow, clutching it to her chest.

“You don’t…” he tried to say but he eventually rolled his eyes, giving up. “Whatever.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered and he moved to sitting closer to her, his eyes on her undergarments which seemed suddenly very plain to her. She moved to cover herself but he stopped her. “None of that, Ria.”

“Alright,” she bit her lip, trying hard not to continue to giggle but a few came out. He looked at her, his dark eyes seeming to burn making her turn away and before she could suggest maybe they stop and take a rain check on it she felt his breath on her stomach. Her eyes went down and she they widened as his lips touched her stomach.

“V-Vilkas…”

He kissed her skin again and when she tried to curl to stop him he pushed her back down, his lips dragging over her smooth skin down to her hip where he planted another kiss. He tugged down the top of her underwear, his fingers tracing where her skin lightened – just a little – and his tongue touched her first making her shiver.

Gods, would he go down? Would he dare-? She flushed deeply, moving the pillow to holding it over her face and he stopped.

“Ria?” he asked, wary. “…What are you doing?”

“N-Nothing.”

He growled and she felt his weight on the bed as he moved over top of her, her body shifting on the straw and she pulled the pillow down her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other, his expression full of worry and she bit her lip. “Vilkas…?”

He frowned. “Do… Do you not like this?” he asked, apprehensive and she flushed.

“What? No, no I do!” she said, scooting her body back so she could sit up, his pillow still in her arms. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“You’re… trying to suffocate yourself,” he said and she looked down and flushed. Oh.

“No… I’m just… Embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” he said, his scowl deepening making her sigh and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I… I was just thinking,” she had to pause and she stared a hole into the wall. “About you… going down…”

“Going down?”

“Yeah…”

“Going down where?”

She looked to him. Surely he was kidding and she was almost certain he was until he cocked his head a bit. For a minute she could really see how he was like his brother Farkas. But it passed when the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Tell me, Ria.”

“No!” she said playfully, shoving him back but he grabbed her, pulling her body towards him.

“Tell me.”

“No!” she repeated, nearly squealing like a child when he tickled her sides. “Vilkas!”

“Tell me!”

“No!”

“Tell me!”

“Fine!” she shouted. “ I wanted you to pull off my clothes and eat me out!” she said it a little too loud and a little too soon and their eyes met, silence falling between them making her turn nearly purple from embarrassment. He raised both brows, his fingers slowly withdrawing from her making her bit her lip but they moved down, hooking around the waistline.

“Be careful what you say, Ria,” he smirked making a shiver run down her spine. “When a wolf gets hungry, he eats until he’s full.”

Her heart went ballistic in her chest and slowly she opened her legs, holding his pillow tight to herself again. “And what happens if he gets full before his mate does?”

“He won’t.”

\--


	15. Frontier Fall (Tacitus Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt As Follows: A male npc gets injured and someone treats it. It could be an open wound (not too gory though like no intestines blown all over the place a la Evil Within) or it could be a head injury, or a dislocation. Whatever. As long as they get cared for.

“Tacitus!” Ghorza snapped making the Imperial jump, the ingots in his hands nearly falling on the stones. “What is this?” she came to him holding up a dagger. He frowned deeply as he knew that she knew exactly what it was but there had to be more to it. And he could feel a lecture coming on.

“An iron dagger,” he said carefully and she slammed it down on the workbench behind him making him cringe. Here they go.

“That is what you call an iron dagger?” she said. “I wouldn’t even use it to break the seal on letters! The metal is brittle! The handle is shaped all wrong! Do you not know what an iron dagger looks like?”

He flushed in embarrassment. “I do, I just-”

“You just what?” she said, folding her arms and he went silent. “You’re supposed to be a blacksmith. But judging on all your work, it seems like you don’t want to be. Otherwise, you would make this right!”

He sighed and said nothing, awkwardly holding the ingots in his hand. He really hated when she started lecturing him like this. It always made him feel worse than he did. She moved making him flinch and she took the ingots from him, slamming them into a neat, triangular pile before the dagger was slapped onto his palm.

“Do it again!” she said and he didn’t protest. She left him to go lean back over the stone railing and he sighed, beginning to tear off the leather strips. Just another day in Markarth. Where he got yelled at, no work was done, and he wished he had taken up arms instead of craftsmanship. But, whatever. It was what it was.

As he was peeling off the handle he noticed a bundle of soldiers walking. Thonar Silver-Blood was heading towards Boethla’s and he frowned at the sight. He never saw the Patriarch of the Silver-Bloods out unless he was ‘dealing with someone’. Which usually meant there would be a dead body in the river the next day.

He carefully pulled the leather off the handle, watching as Thonar moved, walking further up to the Hall of the Dead. He watched him carefully. He did recall hearing that his wife had died but there had been no ceremony or even any indication that she was now buried in the closed hall. He found it odd and he paused what he was doing to curiously observe, seeing the group of soldiers march up until he could no longer see them.

He blinked a few times, curious on what was going on but he knew it was better to just go about his business. He dismantled the crude knife he made, looking the iron over and he frowned, not seeing how it was such a bad blade.

Still, Ghorza’s word was law and he went to start re-crafting it when he heard a noise from above.

“You won’t get away with this!” he heard Thonar yell and he looked up from beside the pillars near the forge, frowning.

“Tacitus! Get to work!” Ghorza snapped from behind him but he didn’t. He could see green armor and capes moving frantically above and a shot of lightning went out that made him stiffen.

Something - or someone - dressed in crude furs began running down the steps and he stared. They turned, lightning shooting out and it struck one of the Markarth guards making him drop where he had been on the stairs, their dead body soon tumbling down. His mouth opened in shock. They had killed a guard.

“G-Ghorza,” he said, backing away as more animal men began piling out from above where the Hall of the Dead was and the orc turned, drawing out her mace in defense. He dropped his crude knife, looking around for something to protect himself and he grabbed the tongs from the forge. It was the closest thing to him.

“You’ll pay, Markarth!” one of the things wearing a decayed elk skull yelled and arrows began to fly, the guards fighting back with Thonar on their heels. Thonar moved to hit one of the strange men when he was struck down, a sword being run right through him. Tacitus couldn’t help but shake.

“G-Ghorza!” he stammered, chaos beginning to erupt and she ran into the fray making him squeak, her jagged mace out as she charged at one of the animals. They dodged her, kicking her back and they all began to scatter, some running down towards the mines while others went back towards the Hall of the Dead.

But one ran towards him and he yelped, scrambling away from his place by the forge to get away.

“Move, dog!” the madman yelled and he scrambled to exit the area of the forge but he wasn’t fast enough. The man slammed him against the pillars with his elbow knocking stars into his eyes and he would have been fine if one of the guards didn’t come running past to catch the up to the criminal.

“Out of the way, Imperial!” they shouted, hitting him hard and he stumbled, trying to grab onto the stonework but it was too late. He fell down the small space between the stairs and the forge, down the little waterfall and he blacked out as soon as he hit the shallow water, his entire body filling with pain. The last thing he remembered before he did was that he let go of the tongs and Ghorza was going to be pissed that he hadn’t held on to them.

 

He honestly expected to wake and find himself in Aetherius with his grandmother. After all, with the fall he took, he should be dead. But he opened his eyes to see the stone ceilings of Understone Keep, his body aching and his eyes hurting a bit from the light.

He moaned which caused someone to come into view, her expression not pleasant. “G-Ghorza…” he said, moving to get up and she slapped him down making him groan in pain.

“Stay down, you idiot,” she said making him flush. “You took a real nasty fall.”

“Where-?”

“Are you?” she finished and he frowned. That wasn’t what he was going to ask but it didn’t matter. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re back in the Keep.” Her eyes moved up as another person came near and he turned to see Moth approach, handing her some rags which she took. He looked down at him and he found himself flushing.

“Heh. Heard a guard knocked you into the drink,” he said and Tacitus flushed. “Pretty lucky to survive that fall.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, not paying attention to his mentor as he did and she hit his leg with something that made him jerk. It hurt and he tried to look down but he wasn’t in the position to be fumbling about. She pressed what felt like a stick against his leg, measuring it before she flipped up his tunic and he suddenly became very self-aware that he was nearly naked.

“G-Ghorza!” he tried to protest, pain shooting through his head when he attempted to get up and she grabbed the rags, tying the stick against his leg so tight it made him cry out before she eased up on him. She let him fall back before she moved to grabbing his arm, making a triangle with one of the rags and she threw it around the bottom of his forearm and she tied it to his neck. She grabbed a metal rod and slid it in after, securing it to his wrist and elbow.

“Don’t move around a lot,” she ordered and he sighed but nodded to obey her. “I’ll be back.” She got up and left, his eyes watching her as she did and he let out a long sigh after she was gone. He turned to Moth who was scratching under his chin.

“She’s mad at me, isn’t she?”

“Hn?” Moth’s eyes went down and Tacitus frowned before nodding to where Ghorza had gone.

“Ghorza,” he said. “She’s mad at me, isn’t she?”

“Why would she be mad at you?” Moth said in a gruff voice. He frowned at him as if he didn’t know and the more experienced blacksmith folded his arms, staring him down. “Kid, she fixed you up since those Priestess of Dibella are all hiding away in their little fortress. I doubt she’s mad at you.”

“I dropped the tongs for the forge,” he said. “When I… went over.”

“So?”

He frowned. “I-I lost some of her equipment.”

“Again, so?” Moth said in that threatening voice he had making him sigh. He picked up on his frustration. “Look, kid. Ghorza doesn’t give a shit about you losing a pair of tongs. By Malacanth, I could forge up a new pair right now in half an hour. They’re easy to replace.”

“But why is she mad?” he said. Moth furrowed his brows at him.

“She isn’t,” he said. “Trust me, you would know when she’s mad.”

He sighed, looking away. No, she was mad, he could feel it, from him failing to make a dagger to him falling over the edge. Siblings never tended to notice and he wished he could roll on his side or something to get up when Moth grunted at him.

“You’re too quick to jump to conclusions, Tacitus,” he said making him frown and look to him. “My sister ain’t mad at you. She was more worried than anything when they fished you out of the river when you went face down.”

He flushed.

“She just gets tired of you never trying,” he continued. “You want to be a blacksmith? You need to damn well try.”

“I-I am!” he sputtered and Moth sighed.

“No, you aren’t,” he said right back. “I’ve seen your stuff kid. You lack confidence and finesse. You treat the metal as if it’s so precious it might break with one slight hit. You need to pound it and show it who owns who.” He took his fist and struck his palm with a loud slap to emphasize making Tacitus flinch. “Get your Imperial strength up and hit the damn thing right.”

He went red, not really wanting to discuss his problems with the forge when Ghorza came back holding a bundle of materials. She tossed a thick, woolen blanket down, pulling out a crude needle set by it and she lifted up his tunic making him flush in embarrassment. “G-Ghorza!”

“What?” she said, her hand hitting his stomach and she assessed one of the wounds. She took a bottle of clear alcohol, splashing it against his wounds which he didn’t feel until it began to badly sting before she wiped at them gently with a cloth. He still couldn’t help but struggle.

“C-Can you put my tunic down?” he said, the cold air making him physically shrivel. “I-If anyone walks in-”

“You’re wounded, you idiot,” she said in a hard tone. “No one’s going to care if they see your privates. We’ve all served in a war and seen it all.”

“But-!”

“Tacitus, be quiet,” she said his name and he flushed, finally having no choice but to do so. She pulled out the needle, carefully stitching his skin and he laid awkwardly on the floor, shivering a bit. She noticed and picked up the blanket, tossing it against his chest making him cough a bit at how heavy it was. But it was warm. He reached up with his good arm, pulling it over him to cover his upper body more and he went silent as she worked.

She went to his leg next, rechecking her splint before she moved to help pull him up so he was sitting making him cringe. A bottle was set it in front of him.

“Drink.”

He frowned but did as she asked, finding it hard to grasp things with his left hand but he managed and the thick liquid went down bitterly making him cough. “What is this?”

“A healing potion, what else would it be?” she said, moving to check his arm and she frowned after, leaving him be. “Get some rest, Tacitus. You won’t be working the forge on that broken leg or with that arm but I still expect you to show up and watch me, got it?” She said and he flushed but nodded. “Good. Then take the day off. You need it.”

“S-Sure…” he said and she left him once again. He sat for a moment, looking at the bottle in his hands before he slowly finished it, setting it aside so he could cover himself. Moth approached him once again after he had laid down and he looked up, frowning. The blacksmith dropped a book by his side making him flinch.

“Here. You might as well get some reading down if you’re going to just lay on the floor.”

He flushed at his words but picked up the book, looking at the cover. “Cherim’s Heart?”

“Read it,” he said. “Then get some rest.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, opening the book to look at the first page. Moth seemed pleased, turning before he paused to look back at him over his shoulder.

“And kid?”

“Y-Yeah?”

Moth sighed for a moment making him frown. “She was worried about you, you know,” he said. “My sister.”

He went red, moving the book to stare at him but he didn’t catch his eye back.

“Both of us were.”

“U-Uh-”

“Get some rest,” he commanded, moving back to his forge and he lay on the floor, watching him for a moment in shock before he looked back to the book, a deep flush stretching over his face.

When Ghorza came back later, her arms dirty from hauling either ingots or lumber, she brought out a satchel of food, tossing some to Moth who caught it before she looked down at him lying on the floor.

“Can you sit up to eat?” she said and he slowly tried, struggling as he did. She and Moth both watched him as he sat properly and when he looked up, she tossed a wedge of cheese to him, dropping another healing potion into his lap making him flush.

“Y-You didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I did,” she cut him off and she moved to sit down to eat, her brother joining her making him frown. He started on the cheese, chewing it slowly as his jaw sort of hurt and while he was eating, Ghorza began to speak.

“You gave him a book?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?”

“Cherim’s Heart,” Moth said, breaking open a bottle of ale. “Let him read it.”

“You know how I feel about books,” she said and Moth grunted.

“Then find your own gift for him.”

He went red, looking over his shoulder at them immediately but they either pretended not to notice or didn’t care. He flushed and continued to eat, sipping on the healing potion as he did before Ghorza got up, leaving for a second making him frown until she came back.

She tossed a book at him making him squawk, catching it just in time.

“Here, Tacitus,” she said. “Read it.” He flipped the book over. “It’ll help you.”

He stared at the cover. “T-This is on Light Armor forging.” She didn’t respond and he struggled to turn his body so he could at least try and face her. She didn’t seem impressed making his ears burn. “I-I thought you said I’m not allowed to even think about this stuff until I can do nails and hinges right.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said in an irritated tone. “But if you’re going to be bedridden, you might as well read. Malacanth knows you Imperials have some sort of relationship with the junk.”

He held the book a bit tight. “T… Thank you.”

“Whatever,” she brushed him off but he could see the skin around her cheeks a bit dark. She was blushing. “Eat and then go to bed. That healing potions needs to take effect and it won’t do good if you’re flailing about like a salmon out of water.”

“Y-Yes, Ghorza.”

Moth chuckled. “He can read for a while.” She glared at her brother and he rolled his eyes, popping the last of his bread into his mouth before he got up. “I’m working my forge.”

“Suit yourself.”

As he walked by he winked at Tacitus making him nearly drop his book. Ghorza got up as well, following her brother and both went to work the forge leaving him on the floor with the books and food. He ate, watching them with hot cheeks, both working in tandem with each other in a way he could only dream about.

He opened the light armor forging book, flipping through the pages before he set it aside. He didn’t know why Ghorza was being so nice to him but he’d take it. It was better than getting yelled at. With that he laid back, wincing as his body still ached, the fall having taken greater damage on him than he realized.

Tomorrow, he’d try and learn from the both of them. He wasn’t good at it but he’d try. After all, she had saved him and Moth’s bit of kindness was appreciated by him deeply. He picked up one of the books, flipping through it to a page and he started to read just as they had wanted. Someday, he would show them their advice really did help. But for now, he was going to read and pray to the Eight they would keep helping him along.


	16. Ice (Legate Rikke & Legate Sevan Telendas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Can I get something with the Dunmer Legate? Fluff, smut, angst, anything really. I just need something with him!
> 
>  
> 
> Imperials are my faaaaavourite. Seriously though, Sevan doesn't get nearly the amount of credit he deserves for living in the absolute shittiest of conditions. My favourite is when you walk up and not only is it freezing cold, dragons attack. Like he can't catch a break.

He shivered again as he pulled on his glove, struggling with the thick pelt mitten to put over top of it and he turned around to follow his trail back up to the camp, the storm getting worse. He was utterly freezing, his small time to take a piss feeling like an eternity and he stuffed his hands under his arms, the furs he was wearing not providing enough warmth. He had no idea why he was assigned to Winterhold.

Legate Fasendil, the Altmer of the Legion, was stationed in the Rift. While it wasn’t warm it was still better than the frozen tundra where he was and he grit his teeth. How he would love to switch spots and stay in a camp that didn’t have to be dug out every few hours or go relieve himself without feeling like his dick was going to freeze and fall off. Though, the Rift was clogged with bears. If there was thing he hated more than the cold it was bears and he sighed.

Fasendil could have the Rift. Though it was still unfair he was here. He thought to the other Legates, to Skulnar who was a Nord in Falkreath. He furrowed his brows, about to think about how they should switch positions when he remembered the Jarl who ran the Hold and shuddered. He would rather take Winterhold than be under that insufferable brat.

Markarth had stone beds. Whiterun was pleasant but there were giants, sabre cats, too many bandits, and he did recall hearing of vampires once. Hjaalmarch had that awful swamp which had claimed more than one man in the Legion. The Pale was just as lousy as his camp and… what was left? Eastmarch. Miserable barren dump. He remembered once when he met Legate Hrollod the man had been optimistic at the start. But every time he met with him after he could see he was becoming drained from trying to protect their camp from bandits, trolls, necromancers, and once a hoard of skeevers.

Everywhere in Skyrim was wretched and he sighed as he finally got to the camp, his men huddled in their tents shaking like red icicles while the Quartermaster pounded away at his workbench covered in furs so thick he looked as if he didn’t even have eyes. The snow was starting to blow from the peaks around them sending a shower of loose particles to hide any tracks and their dying fire struggled to live making him grumble. This was unbearable.

He merely struggled to get into his tent, tying the flaps so it could close and he sat listening as the wind began to howl outside. His teeth chattered a bit and he grabbed another heavy fur cloak but all it did was make him sweat where he didn’t want and freeze where he needed warmth.

He contemplated going out and laying down in the snow to die when a whinny drew his eyes up. He heard his men shout and he immediately went out, the flaps of his tent catching in the wind.

Near the Quartermaster he could see a horse rearing and he grit his teeth. “Men! Tie down the horses!” he commanded and one of the soldiers looked to him. “We can’t lose them!”

“Legate, sir!” one of the soldiers cried. “It’s not ours!”

He found himself blinking in confusion before he moved forward. One of his men got the horse’s reins and he pulled hard as the beast was tossing its head, half in a panic. He came forward, helping his man and he noticed the saddle. It was marked with an Imperial Commander’s insignia. He looked to his men.

“Where is the rider?”

“We don’t know, sir,” one of the soldiers panted, his lips nearly blue and the wind picked up forcing them all to cover their eyes as a fierce curtain of snow hit them. When it died down his man spoke again. “I-It came from the East.”

He frowned and looked out, the landscape hidden from him due to the storm. He looked at the horse which looked exhausted, its shoulders shaking and chest slick with sweat. He frowned and tugged the bridle, leading the poor thing over to where the other horses stood gathered near a slight outcrop, their heads low and he let it mingle with the others.

He checked the saddle again and looked back out into the storm. To the East of them lay steep hills but down further was a Lighthouse that he had sensed held bad omens. He didn’t know whether this horse had come lose from the Dawnstar camp or a patrol but looking at it he had a bad feeling.

He finally resigned and went back to his men. “I’m going out.”

“L-Legate,” one of them said, looking worried but he ignored it.

“That horse is one of our own and if it had a rider on it, it would be my duty to find them. I’ll only go down the hill,” he turned and pointed. “Farther than that would be suicide. But light the fire. Get a good amount of smoke and flames and keep on watch.”

“Yes, sir!” they all yelled and they started to move, their bodies still shaking but the command now had them focused. He looked to the empty hospital tent and stepped inside it briefly to make sure they had potions in case whoever the rider was had fallen. When he found two bottles he did as he said and pulled his cloak tight to himself, moving down the hill.

The wind made his eyes burn and his skin hurt but he persisted, looking carefully out for any signs. He could see the horse’s tracks but just barely as the influx of snow was covering them faster than he could see and he heard a noise. It sounded like a child crying making him alert and cautious but when he listened closer he realized it was the howling of the wind over the peaks.

He was thankful as he didn’t know what he would do if he found a child and he continued on until he reached the bottom of the hill. He could see a bit farther but not much and he sighed, scanning the landscape.

Nothing.

He frowned and turned, following his tracks back up before they disappeared when there was a sound. It came from down below and he stopped, listening again.

It was someone calling.

“Hello!” he shouted into the wind, waiting for a reply back.

“Hello!” a faint echo came and he moved back down the hill to where he had been.

“Hello!” he said again. “Hello! Over here!”

“Hello!” the echo came with the wind. It was still faint and there was a pause before it spoke again. “Hello! Who is there?!”

He opened his mouth to speak but found himself hesitating. Should he state his rank? What if this was a Stormcloak army calling back to him? His men weren’t prepared for battle and he looked back up the hill where his footsteps were disappearing and he had to act fast. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, holding it tight.

“Hello! Stranger! Come this way!” he decided to be vague. “Come to the sound of my voice!”

He finally saw a shadow in the snow and he squinted but couldn’t make it out. “Hello? Sevan!? IS that you?!”

He frowned, speechless as he watched the figure and as they came closer his tongue finally became untied. “R-Rikke!”

The Nord Legate was covered in snow holding her arm and he rushed out to her, pulling off his cloak. Her cheeks and nose were red, her armor frosted and looking cracked making him become worried but she waved off his cloak.

“Sevan, where is the camp?!” she said, squinting through the snow. He tried to take her arm but she waved him off again. “If we don’t get to shelter, this storm is going to bury us!”

“It’s up the hill,” he nodded and he began to lead the way. His tracks were nearly gone and he prayed to Azura to let them find the damned path, just stop the snow for a second and he was rewarded with the sight of the fire. He ran up the hill, making a trail before going down to help his superior and she merely moved at her slow pace, grimacing as she came up the last little hump of the hill.

His soldiers had all stopped when they saw her and some bowed as she came forth. She ignored them and headed for the tent, grunting. “Sevan, make sure all your tents are locked down. This storm is only going to get worse.”

“R-Right. Men!” he turned on them. “Tie down every string and loose flap. Make sure nothing can be swept away! Bury the lines with snow and make sure the horses are secure!”

“Yes, sir!”

He turned back expecting to see her at his side but she was almost at the tent. He came up behind her and saw her look to the small group of horses. She sighed. “Thank the gods… I was worried she had been lost.”

“Who?”

She gave a half smile. “My horse.”

She staggered into the tent, shaking the snow from her boots, clumps falling down from her helmet and he frowned but closed the flaps, tying the tight before he went to her side. She allowed him to help her into a chair but nothing more and he stood awkwardly by her as she loosened her armor. She was only wearing the standard uniform – well, along with the Imperial red and gold cloak – and when he noticed her legs were bare he gaped.

“How in Azura’s name are you not freezing,” he said and she looked up to him before smiling.

“I’m a Nord, Sevan,” she reminded him. “This storm is nothing.” She winced when she moved her arm and he went to help but she stopped him. “It’s not broken, don’t worry.”

“Legate,” he said sympathetically. “What happened?”

She rubbed her hand, looking at her boots before up to the lantern and she sighed. “I made a rookie mistake.” He didn’t speak and she sighed, continuing. “I took the wrong pass to come down here. The Pale is being hit with the same storm and I thought I was coming the right way, past the crumbling Temple. But I actually was riding to Dawnstar.”

He frowned. “Were you attacked by the Stormcloaks?”

“No,” she said. “I realized where I was and rode back but it was too far. I ended up on an old avalanche path where the snow is still soft and I got stuck. When I dismounted to get my horse and I out, well. Some wolves saw and figured I’d be an easy meal. My horse panicked.” She held up her arm. “I was knocked back and she went running.”

“Are you hurt?” he said immediately and she shook her head.

“No. My pride is, for getting lost, but not my body. Wolves are easy to take down. You just need to time your swings.”

He sighed and folded his arms, looking her over as she loosened the straps on her armor. “Rikke.” She looked up to him, her expression blank but still hard like a soldier’s always was. He couldn’t help but frown. “How come you were alone?”

She said nothing for a moment before she leaned back in her chair, sighing. “It was safer.”

“Safer?”

“Yes,” she said. “It would be stupid to move the army just to give you a message.”

He nearly scowled. “We have couriers to deliver messages, not our best Legate.”

“I’m faster than they are,” she raised a brow at him. “And I’ve lived here longer than any of you. I know this area way better than those Imperial couriers from Cyrodiil and I at least am equipped with a horse. So I came.”

He frowned but moved on. “Came for what?”

She started to smile making him curious. “The army is marching to attack Fort Dunstad. We’re taking the Pale.”

His eyes widened in a bit of shock. They were taking the Pale. His voice came out before his mind could think properly. “Is there enough men?”

“Well, funny you should say,” she laughed a bit. “I’m here to take some of your soldiers.”

He immediately furrowed his brows. “…You’re… taking my men.”

“A few,” she said and she looked him over as if she could see his apprehension and fear. “They will be back by tomorrow, I promise.” He continued to scowl and she sighed, rubbing her forearm. “Sevan, I promise.”

His cheek twitched but he didn’t protest. He couldn’t. She was his superior, the Legate who rode with the General. Not that he didn’t trust her but the thought of his camp losing a few men even for a day made him worry. If they were attacked he would be at a disadvantage. His mind started going over the scenarios on what he would do if he was when she spoke.

“We need the Pale. Once we have it, it will be a critical supply line to your camp and down into Whiterun.”

He found himself looking to her. “Whiterun? Has the Jarl finally agreed to join us?”

She chuckled a bit. “No. But the way Ulfric is moving and how strained their communications are, I think it is safe to bet that he will join us,” she stopped rubbing her arm and flexed it a bit, seeing how much it could move. “If we get Whiterun we’re going to move into The Rift. Skulnar has assured us that the roads in Falkreath are clear so supplies can run directly from Markarth down through the Hold to Riften. We’d move in on the south road since the north would be too dangerous as it runs next to Eastmarch.”

“And Winterhold?” he asked. “Will we fight for it or just assume it will fall with Eastmarch and Windhelm?”

She thought for a moment. “If we can avoid fighting, we will. But Nord pride runs deep. There is a larger chance we will fight for it but if the major Holds are taken, morale might go down.”

He nodded. So, it could be months before he would be out of the small, freezing camp. Terrific.

She seemed to sense his mood. “Once we get Dawnstar, supplies will be run up here to better equip your men.” She looked around the tent, to his lantern that flickered with a low candle and to his spare boots which were becoming frayed and worn. “And yourself, Sevan.”

He sighed. “I don’t care about myself. Our men need to be better equipped. We need shovels, Rikke, and fast. The amount of snow that builds up here is ridiculous.”

She nodded. “I’ll try to get them, I promise.”

“And some food,” he said. “The men are starting to get weary of stale bread.”

“Alright.”

“And mead. For them.”

She gave him a half smile. “Anything else? Perhaps you’d like some women to entertain you or a bard.”

He had to grin. “No bards.”

She started to stand. “I’ll try, Sevan, but don’t expect the stars. I can give shovels and new food but drink is scarce and the men don’t need it. It’s an old wives tale that mead can chase away the cold.”

“They say it does.”

“And you believe them?”

“I don’t drink, Rikke. So I have to take their word,” he said rather seriously and she looked to him, her eyes on his for a moment making him swallow a bit, silently pleading for her not to ask why and she thankfully didn’t. She reached out, touching his arm for a second before she nodded.

“You have my word I will help, Sevan.”

“I always know you will, Rikke.”

She gave him a half smile before looking at the flaps of the tent and he went to undo them, the wind suddenly sweeping in. She stepped out, her arm now at her side as if she had never been hurt and she took command.

“Men!” she shouted making them look. “I need volunteers. Tomorrow, we are taking the Pale. While our army is ready, a few more good men are needed to make sure we secure the Hold. You will be rewarded for your effort and will be brought back here after it is done.”

No one moved or spoke and Sevan looked to them, seeing the apprehension in some but the fire in others to do battle. He sighed quietly but maintained his stiff posture.

“Who of you will come?” Rikke said and a few men came forward immediately. She counted them and accepted. “We’ll ride out. Tonight.”

“Is that wise?” one of them said as he looked to the horses and back to her. “I mean… this storm…”

“We have no choice, soldier. The battle is tomorrow in the early morning. We’re striking before light. We must move now in order for you all to be better equipped and rested for the coming hours,” she said and they seemed apprehensive now. Sevan stepped forward.

“Men, Legate Rikke is the best in our ranks to lead you back there. Take the horses and you’ll be fine.”

“What about us?” one of the soldiers near the Quartermaster asked. “What if we get attacked tomorrow?”

“They’re coming back,” Rikke promised. “And if you do, send word. We will divide the army to come here immediately for backup but the chance of this camp seeing trouble tomorrow is low.” She looked to Sevan who nodded. “Time is of the essence right now and we need to leave. Before this storm become a complete whiteout.”

“Yes, Legate!” some of them yelled while a few slipped up and called her ‘sir’. She didn’t seem to take offense and she turned to the other Legate, giving a nod.

“They’ll be back tomorrow, Sevan. I promise and I thank you.”

“May the gods protect you, Rikke,” he said, catching himself before he said Azura and she nodded, smiling for a moment before she was moving towards the horses. Half of his men followed, their eyes eager though the storm was starting to rage and he stayed out for as long as he could to see them off before he had to retreat.

His unit was now down by half and he sat on his bed inside his tent while the wind blew around him causing the furs to shake. Slowly he moved, reaching into his drawer to pull out a small emblem of Azura, holding it for a second before he silently prayed. If the storm wasn’t raging he would have gone to the Shrine that had been built and prayed directly but doing so would be foolish in a storm. Besides, he was confident Azura could hear him.

He put it away once he was done, fetching a small leatherskin of water to drink when the flaps moved. The Quartermaster came in and he stopped, looking to him. “Something troubling you Trenus?”

The Imperial’s cheek twitched a bit. “Something indeed. Was it really smart to let the Legate take our men?”

Sevan frowned. “I agreed to it. They won’t be gone for long.” He sighed that weary sigh that he didn’t like and he found himself turning to face him. “You disagree?”

He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t disagree with your decision, Sevan. But taking the Pale… I’m not sure how wise that is,” he said. “Fort Dunstad has a lot of rooms.”

“You think the Stormcloaks crammed themselves into all of them?”

He scoffed. “No. But I think if they’re not careful, they can be overwhelmed. I worry about after tomorrow, when we don’t get our men back and we hear word of the losses.”

Sevan found himself sighing. “Have some faith, Trenus.”

“I have faith,” he remarked. “But I also know when to be a realist. The Pale won’t be won by taking a single fort in a day.”

“And how will it be won?”

The Quartermaster’s cheek twitched again. “Through blood. So much of it that the snow will be stained forever,” he said quietly making Sevan’s teeth clench a bit. “The Stormcloaks aren’t halfwits. They’re fighting hard and recklessly, tearing down their own men just to get to us. They don’t stop fighting until you practically behead them and taking a single Fort won’t make them stop.”

“So what do you propose?” he had to ask, almost in annoyance as his words were starting to make him fear again. “We just do nothing?”

“No,” he said. “We should do what none of the others want.”

Sevan was quiet, staring at his Quartermaster whose eyes were hard and chest out almost in defiance.

“And what is that?”

“Recruit the dragonborn,” he said in an almost confident tone. Sevan scowled.

“That murderer is locked in the dungeon of Castle Dour for a reason.”

“That murderer is what we need,” he said. “You let him loose on them and we may just win this war.” He said nothing, his disappointment in the man evident and when he uncrossed his arms the Quartermaster sighed. “Trust me, Legate. We’re not going to win.”

“And I told you, Trenus, to have a little faith,” he cut back and they stared at each other before the Quartermaster realized his place and took a bow, ready to leave. “Trenus? I want you working through the night for new swords for the men.” He commanded. “We’re going to win this war.”

“…Yes, Legate.”

And he was gone, back out into the storm which was now turning their camp into a buried group of tents, the wind reminding him of a child howling again and the cold reaching his bones. He reached up and touched the bridge of his nose feeling exhausted and his thoughts went to going outside and lying face down in the snow to just give up.

He contemplated his earlier thoughts, of being assigned to the southern Holds or bloody Markarth but it didn’t soothe the fear now placed inside. He was confident that Rikke would win tomorrow but all it ever took was one seed of doubt to be planted. He brought out the emblem of Azura again, praying, before he thought of home and the Red Mountain and Balmora.

It seemed like a lifetime ago he was back there, huddled behind the markets and drinking skooma with his friends. He was such a fool when he was young but the memory now seemed more pleasant than his time in this frozen place. Murders, rebellions, dragons, and now his own men with their distrust.

It could almost drive a man to drink. Almost.

\--


	17. I Never See Her Anymore (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really me using alltheprompts as a way to start writing again.

“I never see her anymore,” Brelyna said as she looked across the courtyard. Onmund frowned and looked with her, his books nearly falling from his hands as he did. She helped catch them, one landing in the snow and he sighed, brushing it off.

“Dammit,” he muttered. “I just bought this off of Urag.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile and he smiled back before his gaze went out again.

“And you mean Mirabelle? Well, she’s the master wizard. Of course we won’t see her much.”

She frowned at him. “I meant at all, Onmund. We used to see her at least once a day on the grounds or watching us in class. Now it feels like she’s never around. I wonder if she and the Headmaster got into a fight?”

“Unlikely,” a voice came from behind them and they turned to see Enthir coming towards them, his knapsack full and Onmund held onto his books a little tighter, giving him a look. “What are you two doing outside? Shouldn’t you be practicing your wards?”

Brelyna raised a brow at him. “Hello Enthir. Come to try and sucker us out of more money?”

He smiled at her response. “Cute.”

“What do you want, Enthir?” Onmund said in an annoyed tone. “And what did you mean ‘unlikely’? What’s unlikely?”

The Bosmer came to them, looking between them before he gave a casual, smug shrug. Brelyna didn’t like it.

“You know something.”

“Do I?” he said with a smirk before he looked out to where the master wizard was. She was looking over a book near the Hall of Counternance when the door opened and a large Altmer emerged. She gave him a look and he paused, both exchanging words before he left and she shut her book rather quickly.

He began to chuckle and Brelyna frowned, looking back. She didn’t understand what was so funny. “Enthir, what do you know?”

“A lot of things, my dear freshman,” he said in amusement. “The question is, how much will you pay for it?”

“Forget it, Enthir,” Onmund warned. “We’re not paying you for gossip. So, you can leave.”

He looked at him, quiet, but the smirk was still on his lips and he shrugged, moving on. Once he was far enough away, Onmund let out a sigh.

“Thank Talos. I cannot stand him.”

She didn’t answer but her lips pressed thin. She looked back to where Mirabelle was now moving to the Hall of Elements and she pulled at Onmund’s arm. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”

He nodded and went with her, both moving to their quarters while the master wizard disappeared inside the Hall.

Mirabelle sighed as she entered, rubbing at her arms to warm them as she went to exchange the book she had been reading. Urag checked it over before he took it making her sigh and she took out another, holding it tight to her chest.

“Thank you, Urag.”

“Of course,” he said gruffly and she left the way she had come, stepping back out into the courtyard but this time she went towards the entrance to the Midden, hidden by crates and a frozen sack of flour. She made sure no one saw her enter and she shut the trapdoor behind her tight.

The damp feeling immediately hit her making her shiver but she continued on, going to the Atronarch Forge where she left the book she had taken out before moving deeper into the twister, frozen labyrinth. When she got to an area lit by magelights she sighed in relief and followed them to find Ancano, the Agent sitting on a broken chair, looking annoyed.

She slowed her steps and came to him, her breath hanging in the air. “Something wrong?”

He frowned at her. “I don’t like it down here.”

“Neither do I,” she said, irritated. “But it’s the only place we can meet. Unless you want to stop… this.”

“No. Do you?”

She sighed in relief. “No.”

“Then come here,” he sat up a bit, patting his lap and she flushed as she went to him, slowly sliding onto him, her toes curling when he pulled her closer. His warmth made it more bearable and she immediately relaxed as soon as his tongue was pressing into her mouth but their position was still rather awkward. She missed feeling him on his bed – and her own for that matter – and the freedom they used to have.

Until Enthir damn well walked in on them and stopped everything. She was still unsure if she could trust the Bosmer, despite both of them paying him off. He had a tendency to sell his knowledge when he felt like it and she still found it awkward looking him in the eye.

But she wasn’t going to stop her relationship. Yet. Even though several times she really had no proper rationalization over why she was with him. Or why she was doing this considering how brief the pleasure was compared to how damning it would be if someone else found them.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her robes were starting to get dragged up and she stopped him. “Clothes on.”

He bared his teeth. “Fine.”

He let her robes drop back down but his hands were a bit rougher on her skin making her arch her back. He pressed his mouth against hers while his hand crept down and she shamelessly rode him while he played with her tongue.

She had been ready for him since he told her to get down to the Midden, hiding her undergarments in her pocket and he didn’t waste time dragging it out. He struggled to get himself free, her own hands helping, and she was soon riding his cock, her fingers digging into his arms as she thrust down and he held her to him, groaning in her ear.

It was sloppy, messy, degrading when she thought about it but by Julianos it got her off and that was all she really wanted. She took him fully to the base, panting hard at how utterly stretched she felt doing so and he kissed her hard after she did.

When he came, the excess spilled out of her making her shake and she collapsed against him, shivering at the dampness she felt in her bones and the stickiness between her legs. He held her up, sighing afterwards and when he began to stir she had no choice but to do so as well.

He held up her robes when she stood making her look to him and he gave a satisfied smirk at the mess on her thighs. “You might want to wash off later.”

“You think?” she said, slightly irritated at his smug attitude but she did blush about it, rather satisfied. He left the way that went under the college and she went back to the forge, picking up her book and struggling to walk straight as Ancano was still rather large for her.

She found Brelyna and Onmund in the Hall of Attainment together, both rather close in her room and she couldn’t help but comment.

“Onmund,” she said making the Nord look up and turn a bright red. “Make sure you get to your quarters on time tonight.”

He turned a bright red and Brelyna looked to him, frowning, as he began to sputter. “W-W-We’re not-! We just… Studying!”

She didn’t say anything, ready to leave when Brelyna spoke. “Mirabelle, how come we don’t see you anymore?”

She paused and looked to the young student. “See me anymore?”

“You used to come in and watch our classes. Now we barely see you on a good day.”

She pressed her lips together. If the normal students were starting to notice, she knew she had to cut back her time with Ancano. Or at least switch to nights but she hated the Midden after dark.

She came up with a lie to settle the student down. “I’m sorry, I’ve got my own experiments I wish to work on, Brelyna. I have been rather occupied with them. Besides, you all have evolved past the point where I need to watch you to make sure you don’t kill yourselves.”

It seemed to put them at ease and she let out a sigh.

“Just make sure you all go to bed at a decent time.”

“Yes, Master Wizard,” they said and she left them to go to her own room, trying not to look at Enthir as she passed.

Brelyna listened to her enter her room and she looked to Onmund who was still pink, his embarrassment rather cute. She touched his hand making him jump and he covered his face after making her smile.

“It’s alright, Onmund. I doubt she thinks anything bad of you.”

He sighed deeply. “It still… doesn’t make me comfortable.”

She patted his hand before looking back to her book but something was still bothering her. She somehow didn’t believe that Mirabelle was experimenting. It somehow felt… put on. It didn’t take long for her answer to come as Enthir came down and looked into their room, smirking.

Onmund stiffened and she looked up. “…What?”

“What did she tell you?” he asked, curious and the two exchanged a look.

Brelyna spoke once more. “What do you know, Enthir?”

He shrugged. “I can tell you, for a price.”

“Forget it,” Onmund said rather quickly but Brelyna didn’t dismiss him just yet. She was genuinely curious.

“How much?”

Enthir smiled while Onmund gave her a horrified look.

“How much are you willing to spend?”

 

\-------


	18. I Really Like it There (Elisif/Rulindil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another alltheprompts one. I immediately thought of Elisif and Rulindil for this and this came out. It could have been longer but I mean, short and sweet is better, right?

Another party she had to attend. Another party in which she had to fake interest to keep the peace.

Honestly, she wished she was home sleeping as opposed to pretending to be entertained by the Thalmor. Her last three nights she had lost sleep due to her sneaking out and she had been hoping that this night she would be able to catch up but at the last minute she was given an invitation for one of the Thalmor’s lavish parties and she had no choice but to attend.

Worst of all, the short notice made it impossible for some of the other Jarls to attend, basically leaving her, her thanes, General Tullius, the Legate Rikke, and some members from the East Empire company sitting around chatting. While she was glad some Jarls weren’t in attendance – particularly to the south of Skyrim – it basically left her talking business which she was tired of doing.

Legate Rikke was the only one who wished to complain but she was silenced fast by the General for it. That left Elisif downing wine in the corner while the new bard for the Embassy struggled to please everyone.

She was just thinking about how to escape when someone came towards her. “May I sit?”

She looked up and stopped, her eyes widening a bit. The Third Emissary took a seat next to her and she stiffened, trying hard not to show her shock and elation that he was there. He took a drink and watched the crowd, quiet, and she looked into her own goblet before she raised it to her mouth.

“I thought you were away,” she said as she pressed the lip to her mouth, pretending to drink.

He lowered his head. “Change of plans,” he muttered and he took another drink. She sat up a bit, crossing her right ankle over her left and she watched the crowd with him, how Erikur was clearly making the Ambassador annoyed. She nearly smiled at it but she kept her composure.

But she didn’t hold it for long as she had to steal looks at the Third Emissary, her cheeks lighting up and her mind no longer on escaping. She pretended to take a drink again.

“I think I have to use the facilities,” she said quietly. “Will you accompany me?”

He didn’t look at her, silent for a time before he took a slow drink.

“I’ll follow after.”

She left to go excuse herself, the guards looking at her but they complied. She was led upstairs by a female Soldier, her elven armor dull even under the brightly lit halls and when Elisif slipped into the water closet, she waited and listened for her Third Emissary.

He came, just as she hoped, and dismissed the soldier with a lie that he wanted to personally question Elisif for the Dominion when she came out. Once he knocked three times sharply she let him in and she couldn’t help but giggle as he swept her up, his mouth eager on hers. She massaged behind his ears making him nearly purr and she nipped at his jaw.

“I was really wondering how on nirn to escape this place before you came,” she told him making him smile a bit. “I’m still exhausted from last night.”

He kissed at her chin. “So am I.”

She smiled and pushed his hood back, looking into his dark eyes, how intense they were and she ran her hand through his pulled back hair. “And you’re still fine?” she said softly. “You haven’t dropped?”

“No,” he said. “You aftercare was more than enough, my Grace.” She sighed in relief. His next kiss was deep in response, his appreciation showing and she melted into it, her hands gripping his shoulders hard. They panted when they parted, her cheeks flushing red and he set her down, rubbing them making her fuss a bit.

“Can’t have you that flustered, my Grace.”

She grinned. “Then stop being so eager to make me.”

He said nothing, the small smile he sported widening but his eyes flicked down and she looked down as well. As much as she wanted to indulge, to let him damn well take away the ache between her thighs, it was too risky and she knew she had to get back. She forced him to look up instead, their eyes meeting and she stroked his cheek.

“In two days,” she began. “Before the moon rises. Meet me in Shadow Green Cavern.”

He tilted his head a bit.

“I really like it there.”

He slightly smiled in response. “Yes, my Grace.”

“Good,” she said and he kissed her once more before he let her go and she had to go back to the dull party, though now she at least had something on her mind. She mingled a bit, hanging back like she did before as to not arouse suspicion and he rejoined, speaking to the Ambassador. No doubt lying on what he had been doing. She looked away, watching the bard as she felt Elenwen’s eyes move to her and she prayed she believed him.

The longer she was played like a fool the better and she smirked to herself behind her glass at the thought. Who would have suspected that she, the sweet widow and future High Queen could be so nasty underneath it all?

She left the party chuckling making Bryling give her a look.

No one, that’s who.

 

\-------


	19. Jumped Intimacy (Vilkas/Ria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Any two NPCs, waking up the morning after having sex. The rest is pretty open. Was this their first time together, or the most recent of many? Have they craved each other forever? Was it a one night stand? How do they feel now? Awkward? Satisfied? Still horny? Do they go at it again?
> 
>  
> 
> Eyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

They lay on his bed, quiet. Her hands were folded, her hair still slightly tussled and he was staring at the ceiling, his lips pressed a bit thin.

She finally decided to speak. “That was…” she began before it trailed off. That was what? What could she say?

He finished her sentence. “Not what you expected?”

She puffed up her cheeks for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet again, the room awkward and she found herself staring at the ceiling along with him. Gods, this was weird.

“You know…” he began, his hands coming to press together like he did when he was trying to figure out a problem. “The first time. It’s not always…”

“I know, Vilkas,” she cut in. “I’ve had sex before.”

“Ah, yeah, I know.”

“And that time was...” she didn’t want to compare the two. The first time? Not something she wanted to remember. This first time with her new love? Well, it wasn’t fireworks, she should put it like that. She decided to change tactics. “I expected a bit more.”

He leaned up, looking to her almost worried. “Did I not please you?”

“No, Vilkas, you were fine!” she flushed, her eyes meeting his and she was suddenly filled with guilt. Dammit, she should have thought before she spoke. “I liked it, I really did! I just… well. Like…” She struggled for a moment and the air got increasingly awkward making both her and Vilkas shift uncomfortably.

“You know, like… I don’t know. We go to the Bannered Mare a lot. We hear Mikael and the chatter and how when it comes to sex it should be explosive and memorable and…” Dammit, she was doing it again. “Not that it wasn’t, really!”

He frowned at her and she began to panic more.

“I’m messing this up! Okay, let’s just…” she began to become frantic. “Hi. I’m Ria. What’s your name?”

He smiled a bit.

“Ria…”

“W-What?”

“Calm down,” he said before he laid back on his bed. “I know what you mean.” His eyes went to the ceiling again and his small smile disappeared. “You expected this to be mind-blowing, did you not?”

She bit her lip.

He let out a sigh. “So did I…” he said before he quickly looked to her. “Not that you weren’t. But… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” she agreed and she laid back down beside him, the air between them still awkward. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, the sounds of footsteps sounding from above and she focused on it for a moment before he spoke again.

“Just, I don’t know. When I talked to the guys about it they all said being with someone you love is different. It’s not like when you need a rut. You experience intimacy like you never felt.”

She looked at him.

“And I guess… in my rush to feel that… I didn’t exactly make what should have been a memorable moment for us very, well, memorable.”

“Vilkas…”

“I mean, what was I thinking? Pulling your leg like that? That’s not intimacy! That’s just… stupid!”

She had to smile at that. “I don’t know. If I stretched a bit more, maybe it could be intimate.”

He gave her a look that made her giggle. “Ria, if a leg was meant to be in that position, it would be able to do it naturally.”

She giggled again, covering her mouth a bit as she did. He slowly smiled at it, looking to her with kind eyes and he reached over, turning on his side so he could touch her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please, Vilkas, don’t be,” she said. “I appreciate it but really. Don’t apologize. I think both of us came into it like we should have sex like the stories say. Where the dashing hero takes his maiden on a bed of silk.”

He snorted immediately. “What trash.”

“Let me finish!” she grinned. “We just both had expectations tonight and I guess that was the problem. I shouldn’t have thought coming into this I should, I don’t know, be quaking during the entire thing or something.”

“Quaking?” his brow raised and she began to flush.

“J-Just like you thought this should be incredibly intimate. You know, we should have just talked beforehand instead of rushing into the bed. I should have told you my experience and what turns me on. And asked the same of you.”

He said nothing for a moment, his eyes meeting hers and his fingers moved up her bare shoulder, sliding down her collar to cup her neck a bit. Her cheeks turned red and she reached up, holding his hand to herself.

His palm was warm and she could feel how strong he was from his slight grip alone. It made her nearly shudder, her eyes still locked with his and he swallowed, his gaze not wavering.

“…Like this…” she said quietly and his thumb moved, stroking her jaw. He swallowed again.

“Ria?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Can you move closer?”

She flushed and broke their look, her eyes moving to between them and she scooched a bit closer to him.

“A bit closer.”

She frowned but did so, unsure of what to do with her arms until he let go of her to bring her hands against his chest. He had to move her to slip his left arm under her body, his right going back to her bare shoulder and he nudged her leg, encouraging her to link it with his. She flushed deeply, not meeting his gaze. His hand went back to her neck, his palm now rather hot and she let go of his chest to hold it again.

They were just inches from each other and in that moment she realized how just his gaze could make her feel. She tried not to giggle at the shudder that went down her spine. He didn’t seem to notice but his thumb stroked her jaw, careful with its touch.

She let out a ragged breath. “Vilkas?”

“Hm?”

“…Shouldn’t we get up soon?”

He said nothing, his eyes still on her and her heart began to absolutely pound. They were barely touching each other and suddenly she felt hotter than she did in her entire life.

“In a while,” he finally said. “For now… I just want to stay like this.”

She flushed. “Okay.”

“Ria?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I think you’re right,” he said making her look to him. “We should have talked first.” She bit her lip. “But, you know, this was just one night. We still have many more ahead of us.”

Her heart shot up to her mouth as she stared at him, her entire body pounding. Ho boy, was this what fainting was? She felt like she was going to faint.

“I mean, if… you’re willing.”

“I’m willing!” she blurted out making him stiffen in shock. Dammit. “S-Shit, I mean, sorry! I mean, yes!”

He began to smile.

“I-I mean… oh boy, it’s hot in here,” she stammered and before she could squirm away, he leaned in, his stubble brushing her jaw and cheek as he kissed her making her pause.

“We’ll try again tonight. But this time, we’ll take it slow,” he said making her look back to him. “Alright?”

Her voice came back to her. “Alright…”

“Now, let’s just lie here, in peace,” he said, his eyes slowly closing. “Before everyone wakes up and makes that impossible.”

She watched him for a moment before she reached and touched his neck, feeling his pulse against her fingers.

“Vilkas?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think anyone heard us?”

“We did!” a voice came from behind the closed door making Vilkas’ eyes snap open and Ria to stiffen completely beside him. “You two might want to think about putting straw under the door. Also, Aela made you a got-laid pie.”

“Yes, thank you Farkas, leave!” Vilkas yelled and Ria said nothing, her fingers soon digging into his skin as she stared at the wall.

“I’m going to die.”

“Ria, don’t.”

\--


	20. Lack of Sense (Vilkas/Ria)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Somebody needs a hug. Maybe the DB, maybe their LI or Spouse, maybe a random NPC, maybe a kid. And someone sees that they need a hug and gives them said hug.
> 
>  
> 
> It was really cute in my head, ok.

It was done. The Silver Hands were destroyed, Kodlak had been set free and now he was returning cleansed of his lycanthropy. Their new Harbinger had returned to her home near Falkreath and he was walking alone in a downpour to his. Jorrvaskr.

And, for the first time in a long time, he felt good. He didn’t feel angry over how fast everything changed or betrayed or depressed on the loss of his mentor and friend. His soul was cleansed; Kodlak’s as well and when he died he knew he would join the legendary heroes in Sovngarde. Him and his brother who had given up the blood as well.

He smiled despite his armor becoming heavy from the rain and water dripping down his back. Night was falling making Whiterun come alive with light and every window and lantern was lit illuminating the city. As he walked through the town he could hear the sound of overflowing gutters and rain barrels. But there was something missing.

He couldn’t sense the people. It was the first time in a long time that he couldn’t. And with that he didn’t feel the hunger for blood or a desire to run back to the wilds and hunt. It was almost frightening not having that in his mind and he found himself stopping by the Gildergreen shrub, watching it in the rain.

It didn’t smell as overpowering as it used to be. It smelled faintly sweet and he found himself wondering what it would look like when it grew as large as the old one when the sky rumbled ahead. He looked up, blinking as the rain hit his face and he continued up to Jorrvaskr, ready to strip out of his armor.

He didn’t get there. Well, he would have if not for someone slamming into him at full force from the top of the stairs. Had he still been a werewolf he would have sensed them at the bottom of the steps but without it he was taken off guard. Something that did irritate him as he should be on top of everything.

However it melted when he felt arms wrap tight around his neck. “You’re back!”

He blinked, taking a moment to figure out who was on him. She moved and her dark brown eyes met his, the light from Jorrvaskr glowing from behind her and he leaned up, nearly blushing.

“Ria? What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “Jeez, way to ruin the moment.”

“Moment?”

She threw her arms around his neck again, hugging him tight and he finally relented, his arm coming around her waist to hold her to him.

“Welcome back, Vilkas.”

“…Thank you, Ria.”

\--


	21. Less Than Calm (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

He shifted uncomfortably again, his hands constantly moving between being spread wide and tense to tight fists. His breathing which he was focusing on wasn’t erratic but it wasn’t calm either. He had to pull himself together.

Behind him, a chuckle came making his brows furrow further. “This isn’t funny, Farkas.”

“Yeah, it is,” his brother replied. He had taken to sitting on his bed, the weight of him and his armor making the boards creak but Vilkas wasn’t much in the mood to protest. He had to get himself calm.  
“You know, Vilkas,” Farkas started up making him roll his eyes. The last thing he wanted was advice from him. “If you’re so wound up about this, maybe you shouldn’t go through with this.”

That really made him frown. “And why is that?”

Farkas scratched under his chin a bit, almost like a dog. “Well, the last time you were really tense, you ending up trashing the dummy outside,” he said in an almost casual tone. The memory made his ears burn. “Remember?”

“…Yes.”

“Remember what Kodlak said?”

His eye nearly twitched. He hated remembering when he was scolded and this wasn’t making him calm down. His teeth soon grit together.

“Yes, Farkas.”

“Remember how he told you the next time you do that-”

He had enough. “Farkas, if you’re just in here to bother me, you can leave!”

His brother stopped and blinked. For a moment Vilkas felt guilt filling him as he looked at his twin. He didn’t seem hurt but he went quiet and started to frown just like he used to do when they were kids and the elders teased him. His hands went tense again.

“Farkas… I just meant…”

“No. S’okay,” he shrugged. “I know you don’t mean it.”

He still felt guilty.

“You’re just in a mood because you’re still afraid to ask a girl who wants you real bad to bed with you.”

His guilt went away and he went back to scowling.

“I don’t want to bed her.”

“Yes you do,” Farkas started to smirk again and he almost saw red.

“Farkas,” he warned and his brother just smiled more.

“You’re turning red. That means I’m right.”

His hands balled into fists but he turned back to staring at his dresser instead of letting his brother bait him. He exhaled, composing himself, his jaw tight for a moment before he relaxed and he straightened, his chest out a bit so he appeared calmer than he was.

“I am not asking her to my bed,” he finally said. “I wish to just take her out.”

“And then bed her.”

“And then talk with her,” he growled. “I have been missing opportunities to speak with her properly for a while.”

Farkas said nothing behind him and he squared his shoulders, getting his nerve back as he started to think again on how to ask her when he was interrupted once more.

“You know she wants to bed you.”

“Farkas. Leave.”

Of course his brother didn’t listen and he was left stewing for a moment before a knock came at the door making them both turn. Skjor leaned on the frame, looking between the two before he focused on Vilkas.

“You still in here?” he said making Vilkas flush. “Ria just got back with Njada. If you plan on taking her out, do it now. I’ve got a rookie request that needs to be done in the morning.”

Farkas grinned. “Thanks Skjor.”

Skjor gave him a look. “You. Tilma’s looking for you. She knows you ate the four sweet rolls she put away.” Farkas’ expression went grim in an instant. “You also are heading out tomorrow. Jarl of Dawnstar wants a bear taken care of.”

Farkas let out a sigh and Skjor was gone before he could respond back with an ‘okay’. He looked to his brother for help but Vilkas was concerned about something else.

“How did Skjor know I wanted to take Ria out?”

Farkas looked out the door, quiet.

“Farkas?”

His brother snapped back, looking at him for a second with a blank expression before he shrugged. “Everyone knows you like Ria,” he said so casually it made Vilkas’ ears burn. “Do you think Tilma knows I’m here? I don’t want her pulling my ear again.”

“Of course she knows,” Vilkas sighed. “And stop eating the sweet rolls.”  
His brother frowned even more. “But I was hungry.”

“…Will you just leave?” Vilkas sighed again, his temples starting to hurt. “Now? Before Tilma gets you or I really lose my patience.”

His brother, still wary, finally got up and turned to him. He walked over, slapped his hand on his shoulder which made him flinch as it wasn’t exactly gentle before he moved to leave.

“Alright. Just remember, Vilkas. She does want you in her bed.”

“Leave!”

He was gone after that. The absence of someone else did allow him to concentrate more on what he wanted to say but it also left him more hesitant to actually leave his room and go ask. It was easier with someone else making you want to go. Being alone, he started to doubt this and was even on the thought of abandoning it altogether when there was a rap on his door. He turned and stopped dead as he faced the girl he was so unsure on seeing.

“Ria,” he said in an awkward tone. She peered into his room, her hands on her hips casually before she focused back on him.

“Uh, Aela told me to come see you. Something about a really important mission?”

He went red. And she, of course, noticed.

“Vilkas?”

He had to turn around, not only to contain his utter rage that Aela did such a thing but also to compose himself. His thoughts were scattered and he ended up drumming his fingers on his dresser, intensely thinking on how to get through this now. He hated improvising.

“Vilkas?”

“Yes, Ria,” he finally answered. “I… Well. It’s not…” he was starting to sound idiotic. “I don’t have a mission for you.”

“Oh.”

She sounded disappointed and he looked to her. She was looking down the hall and he knew he had to act fast or she’d leave.

“It’s something else,” he blurted out and she focused back on him. “It’s…”

What? A date? A run down to the bar? He suddenly froze and his nails dug into his dresser, his stare becoming intense as he found his mouth not wanting to work. She, in turn, seemed to begin to frown. She looked away from him then back, waiting but he couldn’t form any words. Not words that weren’t utterly rude and full of frustration and it must have shown on her face.

She looked down the hall, her eyes catching on something and she began to frown and before he could get his voice back she faced him once more.

“Did you want to take me out?”

He went stiff.

From down the hall he heard a reply. “Yes!”

It was Skjor’s voice.

Oh, now he was pissed.

“Vilkas?” she said, her cheeks blushing a bit and he found himself becoming flustered and he had to look away.

He finally got his voice back and it sounded so uneasy and cracked like an idiotic teenager’s. “T-That a problem?”

She giggled and he flushed even further. “It’s not funny.”

“It sort of is,” she said as she stepped into his room, away from the obvious prying eyes and ears down the hall. “But did you really wish to ask me to go out with you?”

He let out a sigh and took a moment to compose himself. “Yes. But it was planned better in my head.”

She stepped more towards him, her hands playing in front of her as she got that sweet, girlish look in her eyes which made his own cheeks tint pink. “How did you want to ask me?”

He looked to the door before back at her, his voice lowering a bit. “I was planning on coming to you before dinner. Asking you when everyone went upstairs.”

She smiled.

“I know that sounds… odd. But I wished to ask you privately. More intimately. Not so everyone and the damn dogs heard.”

She giggled again. “We live in Jorrvaskr. Everyone is going to know before we even leave.”

He sighed. “I… was hoping this time I could avoid that.”

She played with her hands again, smiling as a silence fell between them. He studied her, how her hair had a bit of dirt – obviously from her run out with Njada – but her cheeks still seemed to glow and her armor still shone from when she polished it the night before. Her eyes flicked up and met his, making him flush a bit that she caught him staring and he looked away.

“Where should we go?” she said making him look back. She bit her lip. “The Bannered Mare?”

He said nothing for a moment before he shook his head.

“No. I was thinking somewhere quieter,” he finally said. “Where we can… talk. If that’s alright.”  
“It’s alright.”

He smiled.

“So, then where are we going?”

He straightened his shoulders again, his body calming down and went to grab his cloak, offering it to her and she flushed but declined.

“You’ll see.”

 

\-------


	22. Love is a Game (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misfire as Follows: please please please come back

"No!" he shouted, slamming the door behind him but she followed, racing after him as he marched out. "I'm done!"

"Maramal!" Dinyu said, desperate. She caught up with him at the entrance to the temple, taking his arm but he pulled back making the guards and the market look over. Maramal looked furious.

"No, Dinyu!" he said. "I'm done!"

"Maramal, don't go!" she begged, moving to stand in front of him so he couldn't leave. "Please!"

"Dinyu," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm finished."

"Maramal, please," she said, taking his hands and he didn't look happy about it. "Please. I’m sorry."

"Oh, looks like trouble in paradise for once," Grelka commented from her stand with a smile. Madresi narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he pretended to sort through his stuff, not getting involved. The other patrons looked, a few of them watching with curious eyes, others with smug satisfaction.

"Dinyu-!"

"Please, please, please come back," she said. "Please, we can talk this through." He glared at her, his cheek twitching, ready to say something when Bolli came forward, cautious as he did.

"Excuse me?" he said making them turn. "Is something wrong between you two?"

Dinyu flushed a bit, letting go of her husband's hand and Maramal turned away, crossing his arms. Bolli inquired further, everyone in the market going silent to listen. "Is there some relationship trouble between you two both?"

Maramal finally sighed. "No, we're..." he began before he stopped and he turned to Bolli, looking at him. "How many soldiers are legally allowed to attack you at once?"

Bolli stared. "I'm... sorry?"

"Maramal," Dinyu said and he flushed, ignoring her as he looked to Bolli.

"I had two horsemen and five battlemages on Valenwood. She attacked me with three armies and five archers!" he said making everyone look up to stare. "Tell me, that's illegal isn't it?"

Bolli frowned deeply. "I... don't known what..."

"Maramal," Dinyu cut in. "I told you when we started, the rules were free-for-all!"

He turned on her. "You annihilated my entire western front!"

"It was the luck of the dice!"

"You used six armies!" he nearly shouted making her sigh, becoming flustered and the market stared at them. Madresi finally spoke.

"What in Oblivion are you two talking about?" he said making the priest and priestess turn. "Armies? Battlemages?"

Dinyu turned pink and Maramal let out a long sigh. "We're playing War."

"War?"

"Y-You know," Dinyu said. "You have a map. You use pegs. You roll a certain amount of dice for however many armies you have to move them and attack."

One of the guards snickered making them both flush and they turned to look at them. They had to comment. "You're fighting over a kids game?"

"I-It's very serious!" Maramal said. "I had control of Valenwood!"

One of the other guards snorted. "That territory is useless."

"I have access to the sea there!" he said, flushing. "I could build a ship!"

"And sail it where?" the guard mocked. "Ships are useless in War."

"They are not!"

"They are," Dinyu said making him turn on her and she flushed. "I-I'm just saying."

"You're all infuriating!" he snapped, moving to go back into the temple and Dinyu followed.

"Maramal-!"

"I don't even know why we play this game!" he said, slamming the door behind him and she followed after making everyone still stare.

"Well..." Brand-Shei said. "That was... unexpected." 

Grelka rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said. “I’d be pissed too.”

“Over what?”

She glared at him. “Valenwood isn’t useless.”

“Yes, it is,” one the guards said making her turn to glare at him, his body shrinking back.

“Oh? And what makes you say that? Have you ever played the game before?”

“Of course!” the guard said back.

“Have you won?”

“Have you won with Valenwood?”

“Plenty of times!” she snapped and he scoffed, his partner beside him rolling her eyes. “You wanna bet on it, loser?”

“You’re on, lady,” he said and Madresi shook his head, reaching up to rub his temples.

“This city…” he mumbled. “Gets worse every day.”

“Someone get a fucking map!” Grelka shouted. “Right now!”

“I want to play!”

“Screw off, Skyrim is mine! I start there!”

“I call Morrowind.”

“Of course you would.”

“Shut up!”

“Does anyone want to be the Summerset Isles?”

“NO.”

“…O-Okay…”


	23. Lovers Undetected (Elisif/Rulindil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> How about some semi-public frottage or fooling around? Doesn't have to be out in the open, it can be two inside a shop with the prospect of anyone walking in at any time... but anyways. Just give me that! 
> 
>  
> 
> *hackcough* Ship them hard *coughcough*
> 
> Additional Tags: Femdom, Oral on Girl, Public Sex, Thalmor not acting like Thalmor

“No one comes up here,” he said but she still fidgeted, looking around the corner down the empty hall, certain that Elenwen or a Mage was going to come up and see her at any second. “Elisif.”

She toyed with the rather large decoration on her belt. “I… I don’t know. What if they notice I’m gone? What if they know you’re not there? It’s… It’s too risky.”

He frowned at her, his black eyes studying her frame making her blush and he reached down, touching her shoulder which made her flinch. She exhaled, rubbing her forehead in embarrassment.

“You wanted to try something different.”

She flushed. “I meant…” her ears burned. “I meant like me tying you to a tree or binding your feet and hands with one piece of rope. Not…”

“Fooling around in public?” he said and she flushed even more. When he suggested it to her the first time she flat out told him no but the more she thought of it the more turned on she got until she was practically squirming on his lap. The thought alone even made her chest rise and cheeks flush. She covered her face for a moment, her body aching and clit throbbing making her shake her head in shame and he touched her shoulder again causing her to draw her hands back down.

He was above her, watching her curiously which made her heart quicken. She had to avoid looking into his eyes, her hands starting to feel warm and her chest rising and she bit her lip. She could either tell him no and go back down to the party and make up some lie about using the facilities while spending the rest of the night aching for him. Or she could damn well command her Agent.

“How quick can you be?”

He smiled. “Quick.”

She raised the hem of her dress, swallowing her nerves. “Then get on your knees. And damn well address me like you should.”

“Yes, my Grace,” he breathed out and he fell before her, moving her dress up enough for him to slip under. She couldn’t watch, her eyes constantly looking to the opening that led to the hall, her hands gripping her hem with an iron fist and she nearly squealed when she felt his tongue hit her. He meant it when he said quick as he began sucking her through the fabric making her nearly groan. He needed it and she damn well needed it more and she almost ground her hips down on him as he nursed her clit.

Gods, why didn’t she want to do this before?

He spread her legs, licking her in a more direct manner and she fell back, her shoulders hitting the bookcase behind her. By the Divines, she was a pervert. If anyone found them she would be ruined, probably throughout all of Nirn, not just Skyrim. But her legs couldn’t stop shaking as the Third Emissary pulled down her undergarments, his tongue sinking between her folds, his fingers gripping her thigh and she covered her mouth to contain her moans. This shouldn’t have been turning her on as much as it was.

She never was one for public exhibitionism. She heard of people who had been arrested in Solitude for doing so – young couples mostly who had usually been recently married – and she never did such a thing with Torygg. Their lust stayed in the bedroom. But with Rulindil she found herself wanting more, wanting that insane lack of sense to just go at it whenever they could. Despite her nerves being on end and her eyes constantly moving to look at the opening of the hall, she wanted him doing this to her more, to damn well bend to her in public and eat her out while she sat on her throne.

He let go of her thigh, his fingers moving up to join his tongue and she stiffened, her face burning. She had needed to come before but now, if she didn’t, she was sure she would die.

“Fuck it,” she whispered and she moved her dress up, grabbing Rulindil’s hood and fisting some of his hair in her grip as she did. She forced him against her more, needing it desperately and he obediently licked her in a steady, fast rhythm that he knew would make her come.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her teeth clenching and her eyes on the damned hall in fright that someone was going to enter but no one did and she had to stifle the scream in her throat as she finally released.

For a moment she was blinded, her entire body shaking as he continued to nip at her clit and rub her folds and she finally shoved him off, gasping as she fell against the bookshelf. He sat before her, quietly licking his lips and some of her neatly done hair came out of its bun. She glared at him, her entire body on fire and she wished she had some rope to damn well tie him down.

He merely stayed in place, waiting desperately for a command. She pointed to her feet. “Come here.”

He did as she asked and she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You’re hard, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“What do you want to do?”

He licked his lips again. “Fuck you.”

She dug her nails into him making him wince. “No. You’re not allowed.” She could see him swallow, his black eyes still steady on her but she could see the need in them and she couldn’t help but melt a little. “You may rub against me but you better not enter. And you will damn well be quick about it.”

“Yes, my Grace,” he moaned and she shivered. By Dibella, she couldn’t help but waver when he did that. She loved hearing his moans since it was so rare for him to let them out. She let go of his chin, looking at the opening again in fear before she let him get up. He stood before her and she could see him straining through his robes making her purse her lips and raise her hem again. He moved but she stopped him once more.

“Take it out.”

“My Grace?”

“Take your dick out,” she commanded and he hesitated but did so. She took a hold of it, biting her lip at how he pulsed in her hand and she pulled him forward gently until his tip was against her bare sex. Slowly she rubbed making him grip the bookcase behind them and her eyes moved up, catching his.

“Don’t come inside me, Rulindil,” she said quietly and he let out a ragged breath.

“I won’t.”

She pushed him between herself, her fluids slicking the top of his cock and he struggled, his forehead nearly hitting her shoulder as he panted. She looked towards the hall again before she focused on him.

“You can move.”

He slammed his hips forward making her nearly yelp and grip his arms as she didn’t expect him to be so rough but he grabbed her, angling her hips and he rubbed himself between her thighs making her body become hot again. They had done this once before but their previous session had been slow as they had the time. With her commanding him to be quick he was roughly using her to get off and she hated how fast that got her turned on again.

She grabbed his collar, forcing him up and she took control of his mouth, swallowing the pant he let out. Her tongue hit his and she made him relent to her, her teeth biting his bottom lip and sucking while he moved to desperately get off.

She broke it for a second, her cheeks flushing a deep red and her body aching. “Tell me who you belong to, Rulindil!”

“You,” he said, his hands digging into her back making her wince.

“Who? I told you to properly address me!”

“You, my Grace,” he corrected himself and she smirked, forcing him down for another kiss. He pulled her up letting himself slide between her better and she gripped his arms tight, her toes curling inside her dainty fur shoes as she felt him become more erratic with his thrusts. Despite her belt digging into him and her chest pressed too close to his, she felt herself building towards a second orgasm, his cock sliding quick and hard against her clit. She bit her lip for a second, moving to bite at his jaw and Adam’s apple when he let out a strained moan.

Just as he said, he was quick and before she could even achieve hers he came against her, his come spilling between her thighs. She panted, feeling it as it dragged down her skin and he gripped her tight, his mouth briefly touching her neck but she hissed a warning at him. She didn’t need marks on her skin alerting everyone that she may have been with someone. As far as anyone knew, she was a lonely widow and would always be one.

He took instead to kissing her and she let him, her feet touching the ground again as he gently pushed her against the bookcase and she buried one hand under his hood into his hair. He had it pulled back and she was about to loosen it, her tongue rolling over his when he stopped her.

“Rulin-” he covered her mouth, his head snapping up and she went still, both of them silent and her blood running cold. Footsteps were sounding on the tiles. She began to almost panic but he shook his head, his black eyes sharp as he looked at her and he let go, stuffing himself away. He brushed his robes down, pulling her dress so it went back to the floor and he moved to the doorway. She rushed to the corner, fixing herself and trying to wipe his come off her legs, praying to the divines no one would come in and see her and she heard Rulindil’s voice.

“What are you doing up here?”

There was the sounds of stuttering. “E-Emissary Rulindil! Sir! Forgive me, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” he snapped in that cold tone that made her purse her lips. She always forgot that despite his little moans and pleading eyes he was a brutal torturer for the Thalmor. “Get back to your post, soldier. This area is for mages only.”

“Sir… Please, forgive me. I was sent to find someone. Please.”

“Well, there is no one up here but me. Now move before you get acquainted with the dungeons!”

The footsteps hurried back in the direction they came and Elisif found herself shaking as she exhaled, her hands vibrating from the adrenaline. He came back to her, looking her over before he pulled a cloth out from his pocket and he used it to rub at some of the sweat on her brow. She couldn’t help but continue to shake.

“Gods… Gods, if he found us...”

“He wouldn’t have,” he reassured her but her nerves were on end. That brief thrill she felt was now terror and she swallowed, trying to steel herself. They were almost caught. That solider, if he came up before and heard them. Dibella, if he saw them.

She pressed her thighs together and covered her face making him stop. Why was she getting turned on by that thought? What sort of pervert was she turning in to?

He chuckled from above. “I knew you might like the thrill.”

She nearly punched his side. “It’s not funny! And be quiet or I will tie you naked to a tree and leave you!”

He moved back to her, wiping at her neck and cheek. “You wouldn’t leave me, my Grace.”

“No? Tempt me and see if I will!”

His eyes seemed to lighten. “Do you really wish for that? If you want it, my Grace, I will obey.”

She huffed, her anger slowly evaporating but she continued giving him a cold look. “Just… give me that cloth! And that soldier… he’s probably looking for me. Great.”

He continued to smile at her, letting her take the cloth before he straightened and adjusted himself. “Tell Elenwen you got lost. I’ll bring you back and tell her I found you upstairs.”

“She isn’t going to believe that.”

“Then say you found an interesting book and got distracted,” he said. “Tell her you found volume one of The Black Arrow.” Before she could even ask why, he replied. “It’s the book she’s reading. Show interest and just let her talk about it.”

She slowly lowered the cloth from her face, looking at him before she found herself blushing, her heart fluttered a bit but she didn’t let him see. She instead gave him back his cloth and when he was placing it into his pocket she leaned on the tips of her toes and kissed his jaw. He quickly locked eyes with hers and she gave him a soft smile.

“Thank you, Rulindil.”

“…You’re welcome, Queen Elisif.”

For a second they maintained eye contact and she found herself almost wanting to kiss him again but she restrained herself and looked away, trying not to make it awkward. He merely straightened and crossed his hands behind his back.

“Shall we go down?” she asked before looking herself over. “I don’t look like I just had the Third Emissary on his knees before me, do I?”

“No,” he said in a soft voice. “But you do look rather flustered.”

She smiled a bit. Well, she could have really done with a second orgasm but her first was enough and she smoothed back her hair, glancing to him with cold eyes and a hard expression which made him nod.

“Better.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, Third Emissary Rulindil, please lead me down to the Ambassador so I can boldface lie to her on what I’ve been doing.”

“Yes, Queen Elisif,” he said as he moved behind her. “Please, step quickly as I will have to come behind you to explain I found you upstairs which will no doubt make security around here get tighter.”

She held her head up high as she began to walk. “Fine. But you telling everyone means I get to punish you.”

“In what way?”

“Whatever way I please,” she said and she went out into the hall, their footsteps sounding in unison as they moved across the tiles.

\--


	24. New Order (Elisif/Rulindil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Say Person A (who can be an NPC, PC, or the DB) is preforming oral sex on Person B (who can be an NPC, PC, or the DB too if not chosen as the first) and Person A really enjoys seeing Person B begging for them. It gets them either off or really close to the edge knowing that they can make the other act in such a way with just their mouth. But they aren't above demanding things from Person B while they're in the heat of the moment. So basically manipulation as well as both getting off?
> 
> Hmmmmmmmm okay, whatever, they're on my list of ships. If I ever read my BDSM books again, I'll write these two again in a heartbeat.

It wasn’t that she had expected this to happen. She was – no, still is – mourning her husband’s death. Torygg was a grand man and when she was pushed to court him by her meddling parents she really did find him to be a fair match for herself. He liked gardening despite how it was seen as work unfit for a man of the court and he had given her a horse for her coronation instead of jewels which she found so unnecessary in her daily life. She loved her horse and he took her for rides, wanting her to be more than a wife who sat in cold halls. She blushed at the memory.

He treated her well, she loved sharing his bed, and before his end came she had fallen in love with him despite swearing a year before she never would. But now he was gone – though, to her satisfaction, his killer’s head was on a pike somewhere in Cyrodiil. Hopefully being eaten by crows while his soul roamed some plague-filled hole in Oblivion – and with him gone, her province still reeling after a civil war and her finding no time at all to even just think without someone speaking to her, she found solace in the companion she had made.

It was secret, of course. Gods above, if anyone found out she would be ruined and he would possibly be killed, though she knew he would probably drag her name through the mud to make sure he came out clean. But perhaps that was why she was doing this. There was such a danger and rush for her to be with him. It was forbidden, by all accounts. And right now, as he sat before her struggling not to shout as her hand worked him with a skill she almost forgot, there was a power she enjoyed having over him.

“Rulindil,” she purred his name making his black eyes open and focus on her, his cheeks barely colored but his throat was tight. “Say my name.”

“Elisif,” he said in a raspy voice and she smiled to herself. She was the most powerful woman in all of Skyrim and she could bring an Agent of the Thalmor to his knees with a few strokes. She loved it.

Well, really, she shouldn’t say that. She didn’t love him, he was merely a means to an end. He got her off, she did the same and when they were finished they went back to their respective domains to continue their daily business though she didn’t torture anyone after. They really were doing this mostly for the thrill and damned good sex which made her feel dirty and used after but she supposed that was the appeal. 

No, what she did love was making someone bend under her hand. So many times in the court she felt suffocated by opinions. She would suggest something and hundreds of voices would come back telling her to rethink her decision making her question everything she ever did. She wants a feast? No, too expensive and they have a war going on and public morale is not what she should be focused on. A new dress for travelling? Why, your grace, travelling is ill-advised for someone such as herself. She should stay in the palace and leave the travels to couriers, sell-swords, and the Legates. She thinks the food could be cut back in the palace? Depriving citizens and the cook of jobs.

She wants a drink? She should stay on the throne and tell someone to fetch it for her. She wants to command someone? A Queen should be humble lest they turn into Potema.

She damn well wants to be left alone? Perfect time for an assassin to come.

It drove her mad the lack of freedom she had. She was the Jarl of Haafingar and future High Queen and yet she had no power. She was a figurehead to her court and her frustration over it seemed to come out in rebellion. She started an affair with Rulindil after she got a bit too drunk at one of Elenwen’s parties and the fact that he allowed her to exercise her power was what kept bringing her back. She was a Queen and should be treated as such and the only one to let her was from the one place she was sure was trying to destroy her. She almost laughed. How odd.

Despite it – despite it all – it was a thrill and she smirked as her hand ran over him, her fingertips sliding over his sensitive head making him shift. She was in command here and she was damn well going to savour it. Her eyes flicked up to see him and she studied his face.

“Am I the most beautiful and powerful woman in Skyrim?” she asked him making him open his eyes again. “Rulindil?”

“Yes,” he said, his fingers gripping his knees harder and she tried not to smile, moving her hand down in a slow motion that made him nearly shiver.

“And would you do everything I say?” she asked, pausing with her hand around the base of his cock. She expected a prompt answer but he said nothing for a moment.

“Within reason.”

Within reason. She had to smile. She brought her hand up slowly, feeling him pulse against her palm and she tried one more time. “Would you bow to me over, say, Elenwen?”

He gave her a look and he tensed making her stop. “Elisif, don’t push it.”

She had to finally giggle. Alright, that was going too far but she still enjoyed the reactions he let out. She rewarded him with leaning down, running her tongue up with her hand and he took in a sharp breath, becoming still. She licked the crown of his rather large cock, nursing the slit for a moment before attempting to take him in though he barely fit. She could only go a little more than an inch past his head but it was enough for him.

Sometimes she wished she was more of a professional at it. She had heard tales of women of smaller size than her taking down a fully erect Altmer in one shot and it honestly intrigued her on how that could be possible. She would never enter a whorehouse to see, by the grace of the gods, no, but it always made her curious and rather aroused by the thought. She tried to take more of him in but had to stop, his length becoming too much and she pulled back up, still keeping the tip of his cock within her mouth as her hands worked him again.

He let out a strained breath, his knuckles turning white and she damned well tried her hardest to please him as if she was one of those whores. She really shouldn’t, she was royalty albeit not by blood only through marriage but for her to do such things was rather unorthodox. Really, he should be between her legs making her knuckles turn white on her dress but she just couldn’t help but go down on him.

She focused on bathing his cock for a moment before pulling off letting her hands continue their work, both going in opposite directions of each other, meeting in the middle which made him shudder after a second. Men were fascinating when they were trying not to come. She found herself watching him, his eyes closed again and his jaw tight and she found herself sporting a rather wicked grin for herself.

“Rulindil,” she licked her lips. He looked down, his black eyes opening and she found herself shifting, her legs pressing together as he stared at her. It made her knees weak for some reason when he looked to her and she hesitated a bit before getting her nerve back. “After, you are to go down on me, understand?”

His lips pressed together making a thin line but he didn’t refuse. She found herself getting a bit bolder and she sat up a bit. “I want your tongue inside me. And I want you to make me come like I never have before.”

He exhaled slowly, his voice catching when her right hand moved up and polished the tip of his cock. “Yes, Elisif.”

“My Grace,” she said. “Call me My Grace while you do it and for the rest of our time together.”

“My Grace,” he said and she bit her lip, feeling herself get hot. She had to go back down on him to hide her face for a moment and she could taste how close he was getting. His hips were moving slightly now with her hand and she sucked just underneath the head of his cock getting one soft moan from him.

It shouldn’t be affecting her as much as it was but gods above, she knew she was getting wet. He barely moaned when they did this so any sound he made caused her to get a bit more anxious. She began to get sloppy in her work, her lips moving down him coating his shaft with saliva, her hands spreading it and he finally jerked.

“Elisif,” he warned and she flushed but continued, not stopping until he was digging his nails into his leg. “Elisif!”

She moved, swallowing him again, her tongue lapping at his slit to encourage him more and he grabbed her shoulder, his hand tense and body starting to shake when he finally grabbed her hair. He tugged making her whimper but she continued damn well teasing him until he hissed and her mouth was flooded with his seed. She had to pull off, gasping as she did and he continued to release, his fingers gripping her tight and she panted, licking her lips after tasting his come.

It was thick, as always, and rather unpleasant but she kept it down. He let go of her and she moved away from him, wiping the excess off her face when he stood and she looked to him. He reached down and grabbed her making her stiffen a bit but she was moved to sitting where he was, her dress being shoved up and her legs spread and he was on her before she could even get comfortable. His tongue hit her first, licking at the fabric before it was ripped down making her yelp and cover her mouth and he was doing just as she commanded.

She slumped back, her legs shaking and she now had to close her eyes and restrain herself as he damn well made her toes curl and her stomach clench.

“My Grace,” he said making her look down at her, her face flushing. “Relax.”

She stared at him. Oh by the gods…

By the time she left she was sore and worn out. The first time they had ever done it she swore she was broken and had sat uncomfortably the day after. She knew the stories of Altmer being fairly larger than Nordic men but didn’t really believe it until Rulindil had taken her. She was getting used to it but it still made her feel rather… stretched, for lack of a better word.

As she went back towards Solitude, her cloak wrapped around her tight she found herself walking slower as she went towards the walls of the city. She’d sneak back into the palace, slip into bed as if nothing happened and come morning she would be bombarded with opinions again and treating her as if she didn’t know better and was made out of glass and needed her hand held. She furrowed her brows as she walked, thinking about all she had done. 

She snuck out of the palace, slipped into the Thalmor Embassy with Rulindil’s help through the trapdoor, had taken him – commanded him! – and now she was coming back alone to scramble up the wall where a few stones were loose to climb into her bedroom. She was not made of glass and she could make decisions for herself. 

She steeled her nerves, thinking of how in the morning she should tell them all off. She could run the province and make the right choices and not be treated like she was a child. She even thought about telling General Tullius off, her smile widening as she thought of his face but she knew what would happen. By morning she would lose her nerve and it would be the same, of her sitting on her husband’s throne while his court directed her signatures and orders.

She wished she could leave. Just for a bit. Just enough for her to relax and gain her nerve and maybe have some affairs like the rest of the court did. She felt trapped on that throne, as much as that was a cliché, and she wanted to damn well live like the other Jarls. They had duties but they went hunting and travelling and even visited each other while she sat on her wooden seat.

When morning came she finally gathered her nerve and went to Falk who was reading a book of charters. “Falk?”

“Yes, Jarl Elisif?” he said, his eyes not moving up to her just yet making her cheek twitch. He finally did and he closed his book, waiting. “How are you this day?”

“Falk,” she ignored his question. “I want to go to Windhelm.”

He stared at her. “J-Jarl Elisif? Surely-?”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she said in an almost shaking voice. “I want to go meet with Brunwulf and see Windhelm. I am going to be High Queen of Skyrim and I think I should see the province properly instead of speaking from a throne.”

He frowned. “My Jarl, that is why we have the other Jarls. To tell you-”

She cut him off. “Falk, don’t be blind. You know they don’t tell me anything. I want to see the province for myself,” she put her foot down. “And I will not have you tell me otherwise. I am deciding this.”

His frown increased, his lips pressing thin but he didn’t not reject her. “Of course, my Jarl. Whatever you wish.”

She had to smile in victory, her hands shaking in adrenaline but otherwise she had won. She held her head high and went to the throne, sitting down on it gently, wincing a bit since Rulindil had been slightly rough but it was her victory and she was going to savor it. She watched her court with new eyes, determined not to let them bully her any longer and she crossed her feet, looking presentable as they wandered past, all chatting lowly between themselves with papers at their sides.

Yes, if she could command a Thalmor Agent she could damn well command her court. It was a different rush, telling them what to do but she enjoyed it and she steeled herself as someone approached, their clothes that of a commoner and she waited as Falk went to them.

“Do you have business with the court?” he asked and Elisif held her head up a bit, trying to appear as regal as possible. This was her city and her court and she was damn well going to lead it.

“Falk,” she interrupted and a few heads turned. “Let him approach the throne.”

“My Jarl?”

She gave him a look. “Let him come forward. I am the Jarl and I command it,” she said and he hesitated making her frown slightly. “Anyone who comes to my court is welcome and I will listen to all.”

“My Jarl…” he said but the person behind him looked up.

“Oh, my lady, or, er, my grace. Thank you!”

She only smiled. “Come. Tell me why you’ve travelled here today.”

\--


	25. One Large Distraction (Muiri Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: You know how you walk into an inn and the women are just popping out of their tops almost? I want a female - dragonborn or npc - just getting so distracted by that. When the tavern girls speak to them they just fail to even hold a conversation because they are so disracted.
> 
>  
> 
> This was the last fic I ever wrote for Skyrim. I dunno, after this and no one seemed to care I felt like my days in the Skyrim fandom had come to a close. I had some good memories and nearly 4200 hours in game because of this. But we all need to leave sometime.

She was nearly elbowed again making her flinch, her teeth gritting and her fists clenching. “Watch it!” she snapped making Bothela look to her.

“Muiri,” she said making the enraged girl turn, her nostrils flaring as the man beside her did not apologize. “Calm down.”

“Bothela, this is stupid!” she snapped, moving closer to the old woman as more people crammed into the Inn, Kleppr and Frabbi shouting from the counter as the mead began to flow thicker through the place. “Why are we even here when there are this many people?”

Bothela smiled, ignoring a man who nearly staggered into her, not even flinching and Muiri frowned. The old Breton merely waited by the counter, her eyes almost twinkling and Frabbi came to her in no time, her hair falling from her bun into her eyes.

“You want something girls?” she said, nearly exhausted and Bothela smiled.

“A very lively crowd you have,” she said in amusement and Frabbi let out a long sigh. “I’ll take an ale. Muiri?” Both eyes turned to her and she frowned, not really in the mood.

“I’ll have whatever’s cheapest,” she just said and Frabbi rolled eyes.

“Yeah, fine. Coming right up,” she said, pushing off the counter to go grab their drinks. She nearly kicked Kleppr out of the way as she did making the old man glare at her and she hissed back at him. Bothela smiled a bit, pulling out her purse but Muiri frowned.

“Here,” Frabbi dropped the drinks on the counter before them. “That’ll be twelve septims for the ale, and twelve for the Nord mead.”

Bothela pulled out her coins while Muiri still stood, frowning. She wasn’t really in the mood to have mead but when Frabbi looked at her, irritated, she gave in and pulled out the few septims. The sour woman took them and left, going to deal with new men piling near Cosnach making a fuss.

“Kleppr!” she spat almost so loud the whole inn heard but the sounds of laughter and drunkenness drowned her out leaving Muiri with a headache. She grabbed her mead before someone else did and got away from the counter, following Bothela to the fireplace where there were two open chairs due to most of the patrons dancing with what looked like an almost drunk Ogmund. She sighed, falling into one and Bothela took a seat, looking around.

“Well, I haven’t seen this many people in here since Endon got married,” she commented, opening the top of her ale. Muiri frowned. “Makes the place very lively, doesn’t it?”

“It’s very crowded,” Muiri said in an irritated tone making the old woman look to her. “Why are we here, Bothela? We could be making potions.”

“Nonsense, girl,” she brushed her off. “There is plenty of time to make potions. You need to get out. It’s unhealthy to mope all day in the shop.”

That really made her furrow her brows. She didn’t mope and even if she did, she had all the reason to do so. She opened her mead, slumping in her chair and she angrily drank some of it. It tasted terrible, like it had been watered down. Not surprising if it had as the two innkeepers were notorious for being cheap. Still, she drank and watched the damn crowd of men rotate, some moving behind her, some loudly commenting on how pretty she was and she tried not to get angry. This wasn’t where she wanted to be.

But when she was bumped into again, she almost had enough. She turned sharply, glaring at the jovial adventurers behind her.

“Do you mind?” she spat and one blushed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, moving on and she slumped back, pissed off. Bothela looked at her, about to comment, when Ogmund came to her side.

“Bothela, you beautiful old girl!” he said making her mentor turn and smile. “You came out of your cave, did you?”

“Careful Ogmund,” she said. “I know plenty of spells to make you regret chastising me.”

“I bet you do!” he laughed, leaning down to talk more intimately with her making her grin. Muiri rolled her eyes, sulking as she drank her terrible mead and she unexpectedly heard her name.

“Oh, Muiri! Fancy seeing you here!” a girlish voice said and she honestly couldn’t figure out who was speaking to her until she turned. She didn’t see their face at first, though, as a pair of very large, very open breasts came into her view first and she froze.

“Oh, Bothela’s with you!” Hroki said and she turned red, her eyes going up. Her dress was low cut, even lower than usual, and she stared at the young girl who seemed excited with all the patrons.

“…Hroki…” Muiri said, flushing a bit. “…That’s… quite the outfit on you.”

She looked down. “Oh, isn’t it? I wore it today to get more tips! Adventurers really love it and I can make almost two hundred septims in a night!” she giggled and Muiri gave a light fake laugh back, her eyes more distracted by her massive cleavage.

“Pretty lass!” one of the men said almost instantly and he came to her, his arm being slung around her shoulder making Hroki smile. “My, you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she giggled, bouncing a bit and Muiri stared at the physics involved. Now, she wasn’t jealous of Nords. Quite the opposite, she was actually glad her heritage was more magical than stupid brunt force. But watching Hroki’s chest bounce did make her feel a bit jealous, among other things. She was a slender girl who barely filled out her underwear. In fact, some days she went without since it didn’t matter if she had any support or not.

But girls like Hroki always needed to have that on. Their breasts were large and they bounced and jiggled and heaved. She quickly turned to look back at the fire, sipping her mead. Behind her, Hroki let out an almost sinful laugh making the hairs on her arms stand up and she focused on the fire.

“Is this your friend?” the man behind her said and he reached down, touching her shoulder which made her flinch and slap his hand away, turning faster than the drop of a hat.

“Don’t touch me!” she spat making the man retreat before he laughed. Hroki blushed a little.

“No, she’s not a friend,” Hroki said. “Not in that way. She’s a patron. Please, don’t harass other customers.”

“Hmph,” the man said but he turned back to Hroki anyways, his eyes going to her breasts just as Muiri’s did. She found herself watching the pair, out of anger at the man daring to touch her and worry for the Nord. The man leaned down, muttering something into her ear and she giggled again, her hand coming up to touch her collar making her chest shake a little.

She watched, flushing as she did and the asshole’s hand went down, trying to touch her. “Oh, sir, no touching me,” Hroki said. “Trust me, if my father saw-”

“Then let’s go somewhere more private,” the man said and Muiri could almost smell the mead on his breath from where she sat. “I can really show you a good time.”

Hroki giggled, but it was more out of being polite. “Sorry, sir, I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Come on,” he egged her on. “With tits like these?” His hand went down and he pulled on her dress, just exposing part of her nipple making Muiri flush in rage at him touching her and embarrassment from also seeing Hroki’s near perfect areolas. Life really wasn’t fair.

“Sir-” Hroki said, now uncomfortable and she moved. She slapped the man off Hroki making him turn to glare at her.

“She said she doesn’t want to be touched!” she said in a loud voice, drawing attention to her from the surrounding patrons. The man glared at her, moving to get in her face but he was stopped.

“Is there a problem here?” Ogmund said, moving in between the two. Hroki darted behind Muiri and Bothela was up, moving to her side.

“What’s going on?” she asked and Muiri frowned.

“He was grabbing Hroki.”

“Huh. Typical.”

Ogmund glared at the man. “You think you can just come in here and touch the girls? We ain’t a brothel and you should damn well leave.”

The man snorted. “What are you going to do about it, old man?”

Bothela sighed. “Here we go,” she said. “Girls, move back.”

“Why?” Hroki asked. 

“Because. There’s going to be a fight.”

Muiri groaned, doing as she said and the three moved as Ogmund wound up, hitting the younger adventurer so hard he went backwards into a group of men, mead spilling on the floor.

“A fight!” Cosnach yelled, excited, and Kleppr and Frabbi turned.

“Not again!”

“Fight!” Dengaine yelled and the young adventurer got up, lunging at Ogmund. The Bard threw him down, men rushing forward to see and the Inn became alive with chanting and hooting, the two innkeepers scrambling to keep the peace.

“Hreinn! Get the broom!”

“Y-Yes ma!”

“Daddy!” Hroki said, pushing past Muiri to run to him and Bothela led her up some stairs as the fight got bigger, a chair being thrown.

“Well, this got exciting,” she smiled. Muiri looked to her.

“How can you be so calm?”

Bothela chuckled. “My dear, when you get to my age you tend to see it all,” she said. “This is nothing. A few years ago when those Vigilants of Stendarr and a few Dunmer got into it, that was a fight.” She grinned. “I’ve never seen so many atronachs in Markarth at once.”

Muiri gaped at her. She patted her arm.

“Come on, we might as well enjoy our drink up here,” she said. “Until the guards come and clean this up.”

She sighed. This was honestly a nightmare. But, just as Bothela predicted, the guards came and most of the men scattered, running from the city protectors who brandished their swords and cracked a few skulls.

Bothela went to treat Ogmund after, the Nord laughing in triumph despite sporting a bloody lip and black eye. Cosnach was kicked out with Dengaine, both protesting their unfair treatment but Kleppr wouldn’t hear it.

“This is going to cost me thousands!” he yelled. “Honestly, what even happened?”

“That man grabbed me, daddy,” Hroki said and Kleppr’s tune changed immediately.

“What? He grabbed you? Why that-! I should go out and stab him myself!” he spat. “No one lays a hand on my little girl!”

“They shouldn’t!” she agreed. “I was just trying to serve mead!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t wear such low-cut clothes when you do, sister,” Hreinn said as he held his broom, sweeping up the broken glass on the floor. She turned on him. “Then maybe men wouldn’t attack you.”

“What do you know, Hreinn?” she snapped. “I wasn’t doing anything to warrant being grabbed.”

“Hreinn, apologize to your sister,” Kleppr said immediately, turning on his son who flushed. Frabbi came right at him making him flinch.

“Stop your damn bellyaching, all of you!” she snapped. “Kleppr! There are broken chairs! Go fix them!”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear, because I’m a carpenter.” He flinched when she stepped towards him menacingly and he backed off, moving to grab them. She watched him with a dirty look before her gaze went to her children who sighed.

“Hreinn, go clean up. Hroki, help your brother,” she commanded. “This place is a disaster and we still have patrons to tend to! Now move!”

The family did as she said and Muiri sipped her mead, watching. This night was certainly turning out not as she expected. She watched Hroki push her brother making him glare at her before she moved to clean up. Every time she bent down, Muiri found herself watching. She practically fell out of her top twice, slipping her nips few times without noticing, her chest bouncing when she ran up and down the kitchen stairs and it made her drink more of her mead. It was like a show that only she noticed was going on.

She honestly couldn’t help but keep watching. After all, since Bothela was sitting next to Ogmund, both talking rather intimately, while the rest cleaned up, there wasn’t much else for her to do.

Hroki noticed her on the stairs and she came to her making her flush. “Wow, sorry about that,” she said, falling beside her making her stiffen. “Hey, thanks for standing up to me.”

She shrugged, taking more than a sip of her mead. In fact, it was nearly a gulp.

“I appreciate it,” Hroki sighed and she flushed, unable to look at her.

“Yeah.”

The girl let out a long sigh, like a teenager would and she propped her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her palms. “Why do men have to do that? I mean, they could look. I didn’t want them to touch!”

She didn’t say anything. Actually, she wanted to tell her the entire theory she had which mostly involved men being equated to pigs but with the girl so close to her, she couldn’t find any words. She merely shrugged again, nursing her drink.

Hroki looked to her. “You’re so lucky,” she said making her frown and catch her eye. “Your breasts are small and cute. Not like mine.”

She gaped at her. Then her eyes went down to stare at her chest once again. Her cleavage was perfect. It made her cheeks flare and she looked away.

“Mine… aren’t cute,” she muttered. Hroki leaned towards her.

“Sorry?”

She went red. “I said, mine aren’t cute,” she said a bit more clear and Hroki frowned.

“Better than these,” she grabbed herself, jostling them so they bounced making her flush as she watched from the corner of her eye. “I feel like I’m carrying buckets of milk sometimes. I mean, they help when we have nights like this. But then that asshole had to pull something and I only got about seventy septims in tips.” Her eyes went to her and she frowned, trying to be sympathetic but really, her chest was incredibly distracting.

“I wish I had them more like you,” she lamented. “Or at least an option where I could switch for busy nights. Be normal during the day but at night have them at my current size.”

“Good luck with that wish,” she said and Hroki smiled at her.

“Hey, you don’t have any potions that would do that, would you?” she asked, scooting closer to her so their thighs almost touched. It made her flush, her teeth biting the neck of her bottle of mead. “That seems like something an alchemist should know!”

“I… don’t…” she said. “I don’t even think that’s a thing.”

“Pity,” Hroki said, leaning back, her top pulling down a bit exposing the tops of her nipples again. “I guess I should get back to work.” She looked to her. “Thanks for listening.”

“Y-Yeah,” she said as the girl got up, moving to help clean the Inn once more and Bothela came to her making her nearly jump.

“I think it’s time we left,” she said with an amused smile. “Come. The party seems to be over.”

“Alright,” she flushed, looking to her mead which wasn’t even finished but somehow she didn’t care. She left the bottle on the stairs, following her mentor out and the cold night air of Markarth made her shiver, crossing her arms over her chest. Bothela chuckled.

“Good thing Hroki didn’t go outside,” she joked. “Her dress would have split at the top down.”

Muiri went red. “Uh, yeah.”

“See?” Bothela smiled. “It’s good to get out, Muiri. It makes you live longer.”

“Truthfully, I don’t want to go out again for a while,” she said. “Not with that type of crowd around.”

“Are you sure?” Bothela said, slowing her pace so she caught up. “You seemed very taken with Hroki.”

“W-What?” she sputtered, shooting to attention making her mentor smile. “I-I wasn’t-! She was in trouble! I just-!”

She chuckled. “Yes, my dear. And I congratulate you on that. Dibella only knows what could have happened if you hadn’t jumped in,” she remarked. “But after that. Hroki seems to like you.”

She went red.

“You two would probably make good friends,” she said in a cryptic voice before she picked up her pace again, walking up the sloping stone path that led to the shortcut back to the shop through the forge. She didn’t say anything, flushing deeply at her mentor for her words but she couldn’t help but secretly bite her lip. After Nilsine and the Shatter-Shields betrayed her, she swore not to ever make friends again.

But Hroki was so… innocent. She shook her head. Best not dwell on it. Otherwise she’d be up until sunrise from the tension and her body aching from not being allowed release. The best thing to do was to put this night up to a drunken mistake. The Inn was not a good place to go to and that was made clear now.

Still, if she ever wanted a drink… she only hoped Hroki would want a good tip in that low dress of hers.


	26. Reasoning with Cigarettes (Jarl Siddgeir Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: I really liked the modern AU fills I read and really wanted to read more on what our darling NPCs are like when they aren't working or are in casual clothes. I want someone dropping by their home to find hem in their casual wear or maybe when they're out an about.
> 
> Sometimes I do question whether or not I actually like Jarl Siddgeir or hate him in the most twisted way possible.

She was beginning to fuss as she pulled out more of her dresses, still unable to pick which one to wear with the other parts of her soon-to-be assembled outfit. Late Spring was always a finicky time. It was still a bit too cool for full out summer clothes but the pastels and light pinks that were associated with springtime were already past season.

She was thinking about her striped white, black, and grey dress since it would match her favourite beige open sweater and she could wear some black pantyhose underneath or the black leggings she had from twenty years ago that were in style again for some reason. But it didn’t look casual, which was what she was told to wear. It looked informal, as if she had dressed up.

But her actual casual clothes were out of the question. She only wore her old College of Winterhold sweater and pajama pants when she was absolutely certain no one was going to come to her apartment. Her shopping clothes weren’t very attractive either but they were clothes from a few seasons ago at Sears. They looked as if she had just thrown on ‘any old thing’ but at the same time she had done so from a magazine catalog. And she knew she would be banned from wearing it to the party for it. Her boss was such a finicky brat.

She picked up a floral dress, frowning deeply as she considered it when a pounding made her jerk her head up. She put her dress down gently, moving to the door and she looked out the peephole.

Her expression fell when she saw who it was but she unlocked her door, opening it for her guest. “I thought you weren’t coming until twelve.”

“Yeah, because you would have been ready,” he said sarcastically, walking in and she stared at him, shutting the door. “And looking at your clothes, I was right.”

“Siddgeir,” she said annoyed. “I thought you said this party was casual!”

He turned, giving her a look and she threw a hand to indicate what he was wearing wasn’t casual. Because it wasn’t. He looked down and then back at her.

“This is casual,” he spat and she raised her brows.

“You’re in a suit!”

“Because I’m not a fucking peasant!” he snapped. “I don’t have a tie, bright eyes!”

“Oh, whatever,” she threw her hands up, going back to her room. “Give me a minute.”

“You better not wear a pair of pajamas.”

“I’m not,” she shouted from over her shoulder, quickly grabbing some clothes. She put all the items she knew she wasn’t going to think about wearing back in her closet and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned and he was in her room. “Siddgeir! Don’t come in my bedroom!”

He was staring at her clothes. “Stendarr’s dick, this is all you have?”

She fumed. “Get out of my room!” she said, moving to push him but he stayed put. He grabbed the black dress she had been contemplating.

“Wear that,” he said, turning to leave and she flushed. “And hurry up. Don’t take twenty fucking years to put on your face.”

“Gods, you’re irritating,” she said under her breath, holding her dress tight.

“What was that!?”

“I said you’re irritating!” she shouted and he scoffed from the hall. She grabbed her beige sweater and eventually decided on the leggings, going to her Master bathroom where she locked the door and quickly began to change. She didn’t exactly want to leave him alone in her apartment and she hurried to comb her hair, grabbing her makeup bag to do in his car before she was out and running to find him. He was looking out her balcony making her flush and he stepped back.

“You have a real shitty view.”

“Well we can’t all afford the rent of your place,” she said, annoyed. “Can we go?”

“Are you ready?” he said, his eyes judging her and she flushed.

“I’ll do my makeup in the car.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not having you fucking spill any of your girl shit on my leather seats. Go do it in the bathroom. And hurry up.”

“You are unbearable!” she spat, running to quickly do her makeup and he scoffed again.

“At least I get ready on time!”

“You said twelve!”

“By the time we fucking leave, it will be twelve!” he shouted and she tried hard to hold in her anger but he was just so damn infuriating. She only did the bare minimum, swiping a nude lipstick on and doing a bit of mascara before she just left her bag, going to grab her purse. He followed her from her living room, walking down the hall and she grabbed her keys, indicating he should go first.

He went to wait in the hall as she grabbed a pair of slightly heeled black shoes, slipping them on and he started pulling out a cigarette.

“Don’t smoke in the hall,” she said, locking her door and he glared at her.

“I’m getting it fucking ready,” he snarled. “Now come on. Balgruuf said it starts at two and we have just enough time to get there by then.”

She followed him down the brightly lit hall of her apartment, watching him hit the elevator button and he pulled out his lighter, flicking it impatiently. She frowned but didn’t chastise him. “It doesn’t take that long to get to Whiterun from the Lake Illinalta road.”

“We’re not going that way,” he said. “We’re taking Highway seven.”

“The highway?” she said, the elevator dinging as it arrived. “That adds forty minutes onto our time. Why can’t you take the Lake Illinalta road?”

“Are you stupid?” he said making her turn red. “I’m not fucking driving through Riverwood! That stupid town’s light system is fucked up! You catch one red light, you catch them all!”

“It’s shorter,” she said, stepping into the elevator and he rolled his eyes, hitting the button for the main floor.

“We’re taking my fucking Black Label Saleen. We’ll be at the highway in no time.”

She frowned deeply. “Not your sports car…”

“Not your sports car,” he mocked her. “What would you fucking prefer I took?”

“Siddgeir, you bought that huge Ford truck just a few months ago! That was made for taking the gravel roads here in Falkreath!” she stressed and he rolled his eyes again. “You’ve barely driven it!”

“I fucking told you, I bought it in case I had to drive up to one of the logging camps to see what the fuck those lazy fucking sloads were doing!” he snapped. “Why would I ever drive that thing in a city? Do I look like a fucking hillbilly farmer?”

“Oh, but an eighty thousand dollar sports car doesn’t look out of place at all.”

“Hey, I wanted a fucking Koenigsegg CCXR! You’re the one who fucking went ballistic at the price!” he spat as the elevator reached the bottom floor, the doors opening revealing the sunset yellow sports car parked in front of her building. She rubbed at her temples as they stepped out.

“The economy is shifting down, Siddgeir! And you want to buy a two million dollar car? No one sane would tell you that’s a good deal!”

“My bonus is fucking two million dollars!” he said, shoving her apartment door open with the side of his shoulder and he immediately lit his cigarette. “You know what? I don’t know why I even fucking care about your opinion! I should just order it anyways because it’s my money and I can do whatever the fuck I want with it!”

“Invest it in land!” she was near shouting now. “Not on a bloody vehicle that you will probably crash the third day you have it!”

“Oh, fuck you,” he said, pulling his car door open and she groaned, throwing her hands up. They had been together five minutes and already were in an argument and she angrily waited for him to unlock her side of the vehicle. He purposely didn’t for a minute, rolling down his window so the line of smoke could filter out and he dug around for his phone to check it making her press her fingers to the bridge of her nose. He was such a child it was unbelievable.

Finally he unlocked the door, plugging his phone in as she got in and when her door clicked shut he threw it into drive, stepping on the gas making the tires squeal and her turn red. He shot down the road, stopping hard at the corner and she glared at him, grabbing her seatbelt. “Can you behave?”

He snorted, pulling out his sunglasses and he merely turned up his irritating music. Gods, no. It was Prince again and she had to close her eyes and he began turning it past the point of the music being comfortable.

“Raspberry beret!” he sang in a high pitched voice, smirking as he did and she damn well had to restrain herself from punching him. “The kind you find in a second hand store!”

“Siddgeir!” she had to scream and he laughed but he turned down the music. He stepped on it making her flatten back in her seat and he tore through the streets making people on the sidewalks look. “You are such a child!”

He smirked and said nothing, only heading towards one of the exits from the city as the smoke from his cigarette was blown out the open window. He purposely revved his car loud, making sure everyone could hear him coming and she was at her wits end when he finally slowed down, obeying the law. Then the drive became pleasant but he still had to rev his engine at red lights.

She sighed, sitting back and she watched the buildings go by, the huge apartment complexes giving way to suburban houses and expansive malls before it turned to larger acreage lots then thick, black forests with only a scattering of farms between them. She looked out the side view mirror, watching the downtown get farther and farther away and closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back.

She looked to him, his fingers flicking his finished cigarette out his window and he focused on driving, his right hand lazily over the top of the steering wheel, his left hitting some buttons on it. The music was changed to the satellite radio - the Top Hits station, she believed - and his phone was switched to Hands Free mode. It was only then did she truly relax once she knew he had gotten serious and her eyes turned to out the window.

Around them the dense pine forest wound over imposing foothills and the slopes of the mountains that circled Lake Illinalta, not a gap in sight until a power line was revealed to have been cut through the trees. Signs came up pointing every which way to camping spots, hidden lakes, tourist destinations and boat rentals for the famous lake. They crested a hill and she leaned forward, almost able to see the sea-green lake before it vanished behind a blanket of trees.

“The lake should be beautiful today,” she commented but Siddgeir said nothing, only flicking his signal light on as he passed one of their logging trucks going to the Half Moon Mill plant to unload. “Don’t you agree?”

He frowned a bit. “I never cared for that lake.”

“How can you not?” she said lightly. “It’s what makes our Hold famous.”

“Whatever,” he said. “The only people who ever go there are fucking stupid tourists now. It’s become a loud, commercial trap.”

She raised a brow at him. “We want tourists to come to Falkreath, Siddgeir. It drives up our economy.”

“My logging and mining is what drives the industry,” he said, annoyed. “And if those fucking permits get approved, we’ll soon be fracking.”

She sighed. “And if the price of lumber, ore, and gas goes down?”

“Then I’m moving to the Topal Sea with my millions and you all can kiss my ass,” he said and she rolled her eyes, not even going to address it.

“We need tourism,” she said plain and simple. His cheek twitched.

“You know, when my mother bought that nine acres of land on the island there, no one went to that lake save for the locals who had cabins. Now there’s a fucking boat tour that goes around to point out the Lady of the Lake stones and shit and every fucking hippie from here to Black Marsh comes to canoe and kayak and fish and clog up the godsdamned place to the point you can’t even get any fucking peace.” He said bitterly. “Your tourism can suck my dick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mature.”

“Well, it fucking can.”

She changed the subject. “How is your mother?”

He frowned.

“Did she get her garden planted this year?”

He began to grumble making her frown and she looked to him. He had moved his hand to gripping the top of the steering wheel tight and she stared at his white knuckles.

“…Did you have a fight with her?” she asked cautiously. She knew the subject of his mother was rather sensitive as he didn’t like talking about his family but after the six years she had gotten to know him, she expected he could open up just a little. He finally responded after grabbing his phone to check the time. They were almost out of Falkreath but it would still be half an hour until they would hit Whiterun and he let out a sigh.

“She fucking has a boyfriend.”

That made her mouth drop a bit. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, sighing again. “Exactly.”

“Who is it?” she said, rather interested. He seemed to get moody again. “Oh… It’s not one of your father’s friends is it?”

“No, thank fucking Zenithar,” he said. “She has more sense than to fall in love with a bunch of whiny veterans who do nothing but drink and complain all day.”

That made her frown. “Siddgeir, they fought in a terrible war.”

“Does that mean they should get away with drinking and whining all fucking day until they can’t stand or speak?” he snapped. “Do you know what it’s like having your fucking father stumble in at two in the morning and wake you so he can shout for forty minutes on why you didn’t was the single fork sitting in the sink?”

She sighed. “No, I don’t.”

“Well it’s fucking bullshit.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and he shifted a bit, uncomfortable. She changed the topic back to what she originally asked lest he get moody. “Then who is she dating?”

He pressed his lips thin, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“A mechanic.”

“A mechanic? A heavy duty-?”

“No, he does cars,” he said. “He’s… He’s from fucking Riverwood.”

She looked to him, watching his thin, irritated expression and she suddenly figured out why he didn’t want to go near Riverwood. “Is he bad at what he does or crooked?”

“No,” he said. She frowned.

“Then what’s wrong?”

He sighed again, looking out his side window for a second. “He’s younger than her. And he fucking has a kid. His wife died or something when those cultists were going around - you know, the ones the police said were affiliated with a druglord from Solstheim?”

“I remember,” she said, shivering a little. The police assured the public that they were only going after other drug members but still civilians ended up dead when shootouts happened in the street. She was thankful they were caught in Markarth and not Falkreath but it still made her feel as if the world had gotten more dangerous than it had been twelve years ago.

“Yeah, well, she got hit when they shot up one of the malls looking for another druglord or whatever. Left him and her daughter. Now he’s fucking courting my mother.”

“But how long ago was that?” she asked. “Those cultists haven’t been in the news recently.”

He frowned. “It wasn’t that long ago.”

“Yes, but it had to have been a couple of years,” she said. “The drug wars and that spree of violence started after the fire in Helgen broke out from the coal plant.”

He sighed. “Fine, whatever. A couple of years. So what?”

She looked to him. “People can move on.”

“After a few years, just start right in on the dating game? No. I don’t buy it,” he said and she watched him drum his hands on the wheel impatiently. She took a guess on why he was agitated.

“So you think he’s after her money?”

“I don’t know. He seems like he probably makes a good wage,” he admitted. “But why the fuck is my mother dating now? And someone that has like, a fucking ten year old? Like Stendarr’s dick, I’m eighteen fucking years older than her and what, she’d become my step sister? That’s fucking fucked up.”

“Eighteen years isn’t that much of a difference,” she reminded him. “Many elves have kids-”

“I’m not talking about your fucking race, alright?” he snapped. “This is fucked up for Nords, okay? And if he fucking gets my mother pregnant - by the gods he better not - I’d have a fucking brother or sister who’s twenty-eight years apart from me? That’s incredibly fucked up.”

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “I am sure there are plenty of instances where that scenario has already happened.”

“In a non-elven household?” he spat and she rubbed her temples.

“Yes. Do you want me to start googling that?” she asked and he furrowed his brows. “Anyways, what does that matter, Siddgeir? If your mother is happy and he is not taking advantage of her - gods let that be the case - shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

He briefly looked at her, irritated. “Did you not listen to anything I said?”

“Of course I did!”

“My mother, my fifty-nine year old mother, is fucking dating!” he said. “It’s fucked up!”

“Siddgeir, how long ago did she divorce your father?”

He said nothing for a moment. “Eighteen years ago.”

“Yes, eighteen years. She probably is lonely and wants a companion that will make her happy.”

“Why?” he spat. “I bought her that fucking Pomeranian demon she wanted! She has company!”

“Animals do not provide the same company as people.”

“She has her fucking bridge club,” he complained. “And she goes shopping with her other friends whenever she feels like it.”

She had to smile a bit, not out of amusement but shock at his answer. “Siddgeir, friends and pets are nice but at the end of the day, your bed is still empty!”

“Suits me just fine.”

“But not your mother,” she said. “You may not like it, but she obviously wants another husband by her side.”

“But why?” he said again making her sigh. “I can buy her a bigger dog if she wants to know what a large lump sleeping next to you feels like again. It’s basically the same thing.”

“Do you really want me to bring up sex?” she said and he recoiled a bit. “Like I said, dogs and friends cannot provide everything.”

“I give her fifty fucking thousand dollars a year. She can go buy something to cure that - like a hysterectomy - and still have enough left over to buy her goddamn Chanel perfume every year!”

“Hysterectomy’s don’t cure that!” she said, irritated. “Do you even know what it is?”

“The best thing a doctor can do to a woman,” he said, looking in his rearview mirror for a second. “Eliminate the chance of daedric spawn and condoms.”

“Siddgeir!”

“Fucking Stendarr’s dick, Nenya! What’s your fucking point?” his voice began to raise. “Look, I don’t fucking like the fact my mother is dating this blue-collar jackass from Riverwood and his tagalong kidlet! You asked me what my problem was with her lately and that’s it!”

The merging lane to head to Whiterun was coming and she looked down the steep sloping hill towards the tundra and grassland plains of their neighbouring Hold, shaking her head as she did.

“Your mother sounds like she found someone who may make her happy.”

“And I’m fucking telling you I pay her enough - no, I buy her enough fucking things that she should be set for life in the happiness department!”

“Money does not buy happiness,” she said, folding her arms.

“I’m fucking happy!” he spat.

“Siddgeir, you are on Anti-Depressants!”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you, those are for my insomnia!?” he shouted at her, his foot stepping on the gas making her tense as he took the corner sharp. “By fucking Zenithar, you never fucking listen to me!”

“I always listen to you!” she snapped. “I have no choice since you’re so damn loud!”

“Fuck you!” he spat, slowing for only a brief second before he slammed his foot on the pedal and she closed her eyes as they raced forward, his speedometer hitting well above one hundred and thirty kilometers.

“Slow down!” she half-shouted, half-begged and he only did when they were out of sight of the merging lanes. She relaxed, glaring at him and he reached into his pocket, yanking out his cigarettes. He lit one, angrily tossing the crumpled box on his dash and she sighed in irritation but leaned back. They didn’t speak after that and they lapsed into a uneasy silence.

He stopped at the Granite Hill station to fill up and she went into the store to grab a water, her throat hurting a bit from yelling at him. When she came back he was flipping through his phone, hand still on the nozzle and she sighed.

“You’re not supposed to be on your phone near the pumps.”

“Go fuck yourself, Nenya,” he said. She rolled her eyes and went back to sitting in his car, his half-finished cigarette’s smoke slinking over the seats. She waved her hand, shooing it out his cracked open window and the nozzle clicked off from behind her. He left, coming back with another pack of cigarettes and he took his smoldering one, placing it between his lips before they started off again. He rolled down his window fully, the smell exiting and she sat back, watching the landscape go by. The mountains on the other side of Falkreath were a bit more unstable and she looked up as they went around a winding bend that followed the contour of a crumbling mountain.

There was indications around that there had been an avalanche that winter and she frowned. She was thankful Falkreath City was situated away from such a problem but she did wonder about the roads in the Hold. No doubt some of them were probably destroyed by the moving snow.

It didn’t take them long to get to the borders of the city and she watched hectares upon hectares of farmland whiz by. They soon gave way to rich acreage lots, gated communities, and Industrial land to the winding roads that led into Whiterun. The heart of the city sat above everything else with the main focal point being the Dragonsreach Tower building. It was where Whiterun’s branch of the Imperial company was held and as the traffic increased she was thankful they weren’t going to it. Instead they headed north, moving through rows upon rows of cookie cutter homes before they thinned out and duplexes were introduced.

Siddgeir sighed, grabbing his phone to look through it, his eyes constantly flicking to the road and he had to turn around twice, revving his engine loudly as he did. They wound through townhouses then odd houses that looked like they were built at different times during the years before the brick ones started. They had hit the old neighbourhood and she looked out, watching as they passed by traditional Nordic homes with the crossing arches and dragonhead pillars holding up their roofs, each one adorned with what looked like a replica of the famous Gildergreen that stood near the grand temple of Kynareth down from the district of skyscrapers.

He slowed down, turning towards one and he let out a sigh as he came to a stop on the curb, looking to a two-story antique house.

“Here,” he said, glancing at his phone.

“He lives here?” she said, pointing and he nodded. They were still in the mature neighbourhood with high reaching cherry and ash trees but the house before them looked recently updated as opposed to traditional. He got out, quickly texting on his phone as he did and she slowly opened her door, struggling to get out of his low car which was right against the curb and not meant for tall women.

He paused, reaching in to grab his cigarettes before he slammed the door, locking it. His phone went to his ear, his fingers playing with the crumpled box and before he got an answer, the wooden gate that led to the back of the house opened.

Balgruuf strode out wearing jeans, a large braided belt with a horse on it and what most would consider a work shirt but men over forty considered a casual button-up. She suddenly felt overdressed, especially next to her boss who was in a black suit and white shirt. “Siddgeir. Early, as usual.”

He put his phone down, clicking it off. “You said two,” he said, a bit irritated. “It’s one forty-six.”

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” the poor man said slightly apologetic. “I meant it as a good thing.”

“Hn,” he said and Nenya sighed. This was off to a great start. She decided to step in.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she said and Balgruuf turned to her. “We appreciate it, both of us, and you have a very lovely house. Is it modeled after anything?”

The Nord’s eyes lit up. “What, our manor? No, no. Well, yes, maybe. It seems to be modeled after all the other houses on our block!” He laughed and Siddgeir cringed. “But in all seriousness, all the houses in this neighbourhood are made to look like the great palace Olaf One-Eye used to reside in. They said he had a dragon skull adorn his grand hall.”

“A dragon skull?” Nenya frowned and Siddgeir sighed, pulling out a cigarette to place between his lips.

“An old wives tale,” he said, fetching his lighter. “Told to Nord kids when they’re young to get them all nationalistic and anxious to hunt dragons. Not that they fucking exist.”

Balgruuf frowned, about to say something when a voice came from the gate. “Balgruuf!” a female called, her red eyes staring at all three of them. “Perhaps you should invite our guests to the backyard?”

“What? Oh, right. Thank you Irileth,” he said, sheepish. He turned to them, motioning. “Please. I’m sure the rest of them will be along shortly.”

“Let us hope,” Siddgeir muttered and Nenya sighed. As they fell in line next to each other she looked to him.

“Please behave,” she said in a low voice and he shot her a look, inhaling a long drag of his cigarette.

“Nenya,” he said and she didn’t have to guess what was coming next. “Go fuck yourself.”

This was going to be a long day.

 

\-------

 

He was given a beer and she took a water, not quite ready to drink yet. Her stomach was empty and she didn’t want to get completely sloshed before she could even eat. Irileth seemed to understand while Siddgeir merely cracked open the top of his. She watched him as he downed nearly half of it in ten seconds.

“Are you driving us home?” she asked and he glared at her.

“Yes,” he said, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray brought out just for him and she pursed her lips. “I can drive fine with seven beers in me.”

“Siddgeir…” she stared but Balgruuf came from inside his house carrying more Black-Briar lager with him. He set them in the cooler, arranging them before he looked to Irileth who was lighting his barbecue, her arms crossing.

Siddgeir nodded to their host. “Where’s your little daedricspawn?”

Balgruuf frowned. “My what?”

Irileth responded. “They’re in the house playing on their new computer,” she closed the lid to the barbecue to let it warm up. “Someone was on the honors list this year so they got a present.” Her eyes went to Balgruuf. “As did someone else.”

He grinned a bit making Nenya frown slightly before he turned to them. “Would you like to see the inside?”

“Why not?” Siddgeir said in a rather bored voice and he followed Balgruuf. Nenya sighed, putting down her water before she came after, slipping her shoes off at the door. Siddgeir didn’t bother.

It was a nice house. No, that was wrong, it was beautiful and a twinge of jealousy filled her when she stepped in. The kitchen was fantastic. It had a large island, granite countertops and she pressed her lips together at all the matching stainless steel appliances. If she ever had the money Siddgeir did, she would get a kitchen like that and bake all day and brew her tea and just worship it.

Of course, the men were not interested in the kitchen and Balgruuf took Siddgeir to the living room to show him his setup. “Just got surround sound installed.”

“You installed this?” she heard Siddgeir say and there was a slight pause.

“Well, no. Hrongar did,” Balgruuf admitted. “But when you turn on the football game, it’s like you’re really there.”

She turned to go join them and make sure her boss was behaving when Irileth came behind her, shutting the screen door. She looked to them, rolling her eyes. “He says that to everyone who comes into the home. It doesn’t feel like you’re there,” she said and Nenya looked to her as she slipped off her sneakers. “It feels like you’re in a very loud room with too many screaming idiots.”

She smiled and Irileth started going to the kitchen. “Do you need some help?”

The dunmer smiled a bit, looking to Balgruuf as he began talking about his original plans of the living room and Siddgeir drank, uninterested. “You aren’t enthralled by large televisions?”

“Not really,” she said with a bit of a grin and Irileth chuckled. She grabbed a wooden bowl, setting it down on the countertop she was still envious about and she indicated she could do the salad. Balgruuf took Siddgeir elsewhere in the house leaving her to do as she pleased and she joined her in the kitchen, her hand running over the granite. “I love this,” she had to say.

Irileth smiled a bit. “It came with the house. I didn’t want granite but it grows on you.”

“What did you want?”

“Butcher block,” she said. “With the three daedricspawn as Siddgeir called them-”

“-I’m sorry,” she immediately said. “He can be so rude without even thinking.”

“No,” Irileth shrugged off. “They are. Trust me. A thirteen year old, an eleven year old, and a ten year old are the spawn of Mehrunes Dagon. I keep praying to Azura it will get better but they are reaching that teenager age where they are right all the time, we are wrong, and everything will be a fight.”

Nenya gave her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe it will get better.”

“I damn near hope so,” Irileth grumbled before a knocking alerted her. She quickly rushed to the door leaving her alone in the kitchen and she carefully put together the salad - from a bag, which she found rather funny - and looked for the salad fork and tongs. She heard voices and the door shutting and Irileth began to yell.

“Balgruuf!” her voice echoed. “Igmund is here!”

Nenya had to go peek around the corner, seeing Balgruuf come from downstairs without Siddgeir and she saw Faleen and she had to smile. Faleen looked as she always did - like she had walked off a magazine shoot for Skyrim’s next cowgirl and Igmund shared her similar dress. Jeans and a buttoned up plaid shirt. Igmund went downstairs as Balgruuf began talking about what he was doing - something about a home theatre, and Faleen joined them in the kitchen, setting down her keys.

“The traffic in this city,” she said immediately. “Gods, I hate it.”

“Tell me about it,” Irileth said, moving to pull the steaks from the fridge. Faleen looked to Nenya and she smiled.

“Hey, Nenya. How’ve you been? That isn’t your gaudy car out front is it?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “It’s Siddgeir’s.”

“Typical,” Faleen rolled her eyes. “Why would he get such a thing? He should get a truck. We live in Skyrim, not southern Cyrodiil where it would make sense to have it.”

“He has one,” she sighed. “He doesn’t like it.”

“What is it?”

“A Ford something-or-other.”

Faleen smirked. “Well, that’s why. Fords are terrible. Get a GMC. That’ll go over everything you ever want.”

“A GMC?” Irileth scoffed. “Faleen, GMC hasn’t made a good vehicle since the 50s.”

“My truck is perfect,” she said, folding her arms. “Just this winter, we had to go up to Solitude. You know, business and all that. And the roads were slick as anything. Everyone else was either in the ditch or sliding on the road. Us? I got us there with time to spare and I did not slip once. My baby is as surefooted as a mountain goat.”

Nenya had to smile a bit and Faleen turned to her. “You should get one!”

“I take the bus,” she said. “Siddgeir drives enough for the both of us and I honestly would prefer to walk around in the city or take transit.”

“And how is that?” Irileth said beside her. “I’ve never taken transit before.”

“Uh, well,” Nenya flushed a bit. “Sometimes the bus is late. But for the most part, it runs very well. I only have to pay a monthly pass as opposed to gas, insurance, parking fees and other expenses I can’t really afford.”

“Oh, right,” Faleen said. “You still have your student loans?”

She sighed. “I do.”

Irileth pulled out a box of chicken breasts, cutting the seal. “That’s our biggest worry,” she commented. “We’ve put money away for each of the kids for college if they want to go but I’m still unsure it’s enough. Balgruuf insists it is but I have a feeling one of them will still take out student loans.”

“My loans aren’t too bad,” Nenya had to admit. “My bachelor degree in business was very cheap. But I had gone to University beforehand because I wanted a Bachelor of Science. I went two years but that ended up putting me twenty-four thousand dollars in student loans before I decided I liked Business more.” She watched Faleen’s eyes widen a bit and she had to smile. “If I continued, it would have been fifty thousand dollars by the end.”

“By Mara,” she said and Irileth raised her brows.

“That sounds about right,” she said. “I worry that Dagny will be the one who goes to University for something like fine arts and find out only after she didn’t like it and want to take something else. Then she’ll start draining Balgruuf’s pension account because he can’t say no to her and she’ll convince him whatever strikes her fancy is what she’s really passionate about. Only to not complete it.”

Nenya frowned. “How old is Dagny?”

“Eleven,” Irileth said. “But she’s already showing signs that my prediction will be right. They had to research a career for an assignment. She told Balgruuf she wanted to be a Marine Biologist. When I asked her how she was going to like spending months sitting among the endangered black horkers up in the Sea of Ghosts she told me she only wants to work down in the Topal Sea with the dolphins and whales.” She rolled her eyes. 

“She didn’t do any proper research, only looked up whales and dolphins. Balgruuf encouraged her because she’s his little girl. But I know better,” she put the plate of steaks on top of the box of chicken with barbecue sauce, indicating they could go out and Nenya brought the salad as Faleen fetched the bundles of forks and knives.

“She could actually do it, Irileth,” Faleen said and Irileth sighed, opening the screen door.

“You don’t know these kids,” she said. “Their daddy has a very big heart for them all and they take him for what he’s worth. I am the one who limits their computer time. He thinks it’s fine for them to spend all day upstairs playing a game.”

Nenya had to smile. “My father always let me do as I wanted.”

“Yes, it seems all fathers are like that at some point,” Irileth muttered and Nenya was about to agree when she recalled what Siddgeir had said earlier. It actually saddened her a little and she looked back as if she could see him but he was still downstairs.

“Well, I hope Calcelmo won’t be like that,” Faleen sighed and both looked to her. Irileth’s eyes went down to her stomach.

“…You’re pregnant?”

Faleen looked, staring for a minute before she laughed. “What? Oh, no! I was just lamenting! I’m not pregnant yet, Mara bless me.”

Nenya set the salad down on the table that was lined with a plastic cloth. “How is Calcelmo?” she said politely and Faleen smiled at her. She raised her hand and Nenya stared at the ring that was perched on her right index finger. “By the divines, you’re engaged!”

Faleen giggled and Irileth looked to her. “He proposed to you?”

“Yes!” she bubbled. “I wasn’t going to say anything, I was hoping you would all notice but - oh, fuck it, yes! He proposed to me!”

“When?”

“A week and a half ago,” she smiled, her cheeks turning a bit red. “He invited me out to dinner then took me to his dig site after where he had prepared music and champagne so we could dance. Then, while we were, he stopped and got down on one knee!”

Nenya hated to admit she was a bit jealous over the fact another woman she knew was getting married while she was still single but Faleen’s excitement over it made her happy. The woman was as tough as nails and she had seen her wrestle a two thousand pound stallion to a post when they were in Markarth for a dinner once so seeing her get giggly over being proposed to was sweet.

“Can I see it?”

“Of course!” she went to her, letting her take her hand and she looked it over. “He got a dwemer band and decided on an emerald instead of a diamond because,” she paused, blushing. “He said my emerald eyes were more precious than all the diamonds in the world.”

Irileth snorted. Nenya had to grin. “I never thought Calcelmo could be so poetic.”

“He isn’t,” she said. “Well, he is but he isn’t. He tries with me which is incredibly sweet but normally he isn’t.”

“Who isn’t?” Igmund’s voice came and he opened the screen door making them look to him. “Afternoon Irileth. Nenya.”

“Igmund,” Irileth said as she opened the barbecue lid, a wave of heat coming out. “We were just talking about Faleen’s engagement.”

“Ah,” he said. From behind him, Siddgeir came with an empty beer bottle.

“Faleen got engaged?” he said, raising a brow. “To who?”

“Calcelmo,” Igmund said, stepping off the deck and Siddgeir snorted from behind him.

“Isn’t he a thousand years old?” he looked to Faleen. “I didn’t know you were a grave robber.”

“Siddgeir!” Nenya said, turning pink but Faleen only grinned.

“And when are you getting married, Siddgeir?” she said. “The clock is ticking you know.”

“I’d rather stab myself than get married,” he scoffed. “I like my bank account being full, thanks. Not being drained by some woman who thinks marriage means she gets my millions, home, and vehicles to deplete.”

“Get a prenup,” Irileth said making Balgruuf look to her. He rolled his eyes, grabbing another Black-Briar lager.

“Or, I can keep living as a bachelor and be with whoever I want.”

“You bang whores, Siddgeir,” Faleen said making Igmund look at her and Nenya went a bit pale. Surprisingly, her boss only laughed.

“I banged you.”

She went red as if she had forgotten, Nenya’s mouth dropped in shock while Igmund looked at Siddgeir in surprise and thank the divines, there was a knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Balgruuf said, looking to Irileth who was grinning and Siddgeir smirked, moving to pull a cigarette out from his pocket. Faleen sighed, shaking her head but she dropped it.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she said. “Irileth…?”

“Upstairs, second door on the right,” she said and Faleen left leaving only the four of them outside. Igmund grabbed a beer and Nenya went to take her water, drinking nearly all of it. Of course he had to go and make things awkward and she watched him light up, slipping his lighter into his back pocket before he looked to Igmund.

“Have you gotten your fracking permits approved yet?”

Igmund turned, frowning for a second as his mind was still obviously on the revelation his coworker had been with the CEO of the Falkreath branch of the company. “No. But I’ve been in a fight with the unions for weeks so I haven’t been paying attention.”

He blew a thin line of smoke out from his lips. “The union is still hounding you? Zenithar must have it in for you.”

Igmund sighed deeply. “It’s that damn Thonar. His silver mine operates smoothly somehow with his union and then the others look to me and expect it to be the same. But I have men right and left refusing to go to work because they hurt their back working a shovel or the labor they are expected to do is unsafe. I’ve had health and safety come out for a third time to inspect the gold mine up near Blind Cliff and men are still refusing to work there because it’s unsafe.”

“I told you, you need to get rid of unions,” Siddgeir said. “I have none and my mines and logging run perfectly fine.”

Nenya frowned. “Embershard Mine works under a union.”

He looked at her. “But half of it is non-union staff workers and they give me no trouble. Embershard continues to make my quota every month.”

Igmund let out a deeper sigh, reaching up to rub his forehead. “I’ve been behind for months,” he said. “On Fredas, we’re having another budget meeting. I don’t even want to know what I’m not going to be able to afford this time.”

Siddgeir raised his brows, pulling his cigarette away so he could take a drink and Irileth coated the grill, tossing a few steaks on it before she covered them.

“Why can’t you buyout Thonar, Igmund?”

“I don’t have the money,” he said. “He’s the majority share-holder, then his psychotic brother. Trust me, if my old man had bought them out back in the days before they had the majority, Markarth’s streets would be paved with silver.”

“Out here,” a voice came making them all look and Balgruuf opened the door. Idgrod stepped out, her long, marshy-green dress swept the ground, her jean jacket beaded with flowers and she looked to them, her glasses slowly turning purple as she was back in the sun.

“Well, here I thought we were early,” she said and Siddgeir looked to his phone.

“It’s fucking two fifteen.”

“Siddgeir!” Nenya said, embarrassed and Idgrod only smiled, waiting for her husband to come out. He was wearing jeans and a jean jacket making them both look like they had dressed purposely to match and Irileth grinned when she saw.

“Siddgeir. What a surprise. Here I thought you wouldn’t come because it would have required you to get out of bed.”

His eyes narrowed. “Whatever, you old bat.”

Behind them, her child came, dressed in a t-shirt and track pants. He seemed nervous, his gray eyes looking around and Balgruuf smiled a bit.

“Uh, Joric was it?” the boy turned to look at him. “Dagny, Frothar, and Nelkir are upstairs if you want to join them.”

He shrugged. “Ok.” And Balgruuf let him back in. Siddgeir watched and he looked to Idgrod as she went to say hello to Irileth, her husband waiting for Balgruuf and he was given his choice of beer.

“You brought your kid?” Siddgeir said and Idgrod looked to him.

“Yes, I did,” she said and he sighed. “I thought he could play with you since you both are at the same maturity level.”

“Ha, ha, fuck you,” he muttered, drinking again and Nenya sighed, moving to his side as the air got awkward and Balgruuf tried to mend it.

“Steaks will be ready soon! Right Irileth?”

“Soon,” she said, looking to her watch. Nenya slid up to her boss, giving him a look.

“Can you behave?” she said in a low voice and he looked at her. “You are being incredibly rude!”

He glared at her. “Fuck off, Nenya.”

“Siddgeir!” she stressed. “Please, just behave!”

He shifted, irritated, and about to snap at her when Aslfur approached. “Siddgeir. Been a while since I’ve seen you.”

He paused, a bit flushed before he nodded. “Yeah. Right. I usually only see your wife.”

“Can I ask you something?” he said and Siddgeir stiffened a bit. “Have you been approached recently asking if you’d buy out some of the oil patches popping up?”

He frowned and Nenya did as well. “No,” he admitted. “Most of my business is in underground and surface mining and logging. I don’t know a thing about oil and wouldn’t get into it.”

“Ah.”

“Why?” he said, suspicious. “Is someone approaching you guys about it?”

Aslfur sighed. “No,” he admitted. “But I heard a rumor that Skald in Dawnstar has been. You know Skald, right?”

“That old dinosaur who got pissed off at the Imperial company and broke away from it to form his own?” he said. “Yeah. I’m vaguely familiar with him.”

“Yes, well. Just wanted to see if any of us had been approached.”

“Why would someone go to the heads of major companies and ask them if they want oil patches?” Nenya said with a frown and Aslfur looked to her. “If you owned an oil patch, wouldn’t you keep that to yourself?”

He sighed, shrugging a bit. “Either the oil patches have run dry and the companies that own them are trying to get rid of them so they don’t have to care for the environmental impacts later. Or the price of oil is going to skyrocket and those on the inside know companies with big pockets can buy them out and make a profit while they in turn get contracted to drill on top of the money they would already get. Either way, I was just curious if you had been approached.”

“No,” Siddgeir said and he was about to say more when the door opened and Faleen stepped back out. She caught sight of Idgrod, saying her name rather loud and Aslfur turned. Siddgeir took that moment to walk away, moving to a set of chairs and Nenya sighed. Aslfur turned back and she rolled her eyes making him smile before she went to join her boss. He sat down, pulling out his phone and she sighed, standing near him.

“Siddgeir,” she said and he ignored her. She let out an irritating sigh knowing even if she lectured him he wouldn’t listen and she frankly wasn’t in the mood to do so either. Her eyes moved to Faleen as she showed Idgrod her ring and Aslfur came to her side to look as well making her beam. She had to smile a bit as she watched how ecstatic Faleen was before she recalled the earlier revelation. 

“When did you sleep with Faleen?”

He looked up. “What?”

“You said you slept with Faleen,” she said. “When?”

“Three Saturalia’s ago,” he said, looking back at his phone. She frowned deeply at that.

“That was when she said she was dating someone.”

“Yeah,” he said and she stared at him.

“Siddgeir,” she said, disappointed and he looked at her, annoyed.

“She was drunk. I was drunk,” he said. “It’s not like we conspired to do it beforehand. It just happened.”

“That’s even worse,” she said and he glared at her. “How can you be so irresponsible?”

“Here’s a newsflash, Nenya. I didn’t approach her. She approached me. Now get off my back,” he said and she sighed, rubbing her temple. He was honestly impossible.

“Please, don’t get drunk here. I want to make it home tonight. And not with someone else having to drop me off.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, looking back to his phone and she shook her head, watching the others as they mingled when Balgruuf looked up. He went into the house leaving Irileth and Igmund and they watched, curious. Nenya tapped her glass of water, wondering if someone else had come when Siddgeir sighed as Idgrod, Aslfur, and Faleen soon looked to the door. There was sounds and he finally looked up before he sunk in his chair.

“Elisif,” he said, completely irritated. She looked down at him. She was about to ask how he knew when she heard a feminine voice from deep inside the house. It was her and she had to turn to face him fully. She knew what was coming.

“Please,” she begged. “Be pleasant.”

“Nenya…”

“Please,” she said and the screen door opened. Out stepped the queen of business herself, her clothes nowhere near casual and her hefty sunglasses blocking out half her face. Nenya stared at her, recognizing immediately her clothes as the new Yves Saint Laurent collection and she looked at her shoes in utter jealousy.

Faleen’s eyes went down as well and Irileth raised a brow as she walked in, smiling to them as she lifted her sunglasses up. “Oh, your house is so charming, Balgruuf!” she said enthusiastically. “I love how quaint it is!”

“Quaint?” Irileth said and Siddgeir shook his head.

“Here we go,” he muttered, watching as Elisif went to Idgrod. Idgrod nodded to her as the rest of them stared. All of them had respectfully dressed down per their usual clothes but Elisif seemed to have went all out. She had every accessory on that you could, her hands sporting rings, her neck having a scarf and a pendant to go with it and her ears dazzled with small rubies. Faleen shook her head and went to crack open a beer, nearly chugging it. It was Irileth who spoke first.

“Elisif. I see you didn’t get lost.”

“Oh, we almost did,” she said. “Your directions weren’t quite right on how to get onto the highway.” Idgrod’s eyebrow went up in harsh judgement and Aslfur shook his head making Nenya press her lips thin as she watched Irileth’s red eyes narrow. “But we managed! Thank the Eight Erikur figured it out!”

“Erikur?” Igmund said and they all tensed at the name. Nenya’s stomach fell. Oh gods, not him.

It was like his cue had been called and he stepped out, folding a pair of sunglasses up to stick in his breast pocket, his navy blue suit and light blue shirt combination making him look like he was there for business and not to eat. Nenya couldn’t help but look to Siddgeir and he took a long drink from his beer, his mood souring. She didn’t know whether it was because - despite it all - Erikur looked better in his ‘casual wear’ or because he was there.

Personally, she felt it was because he was there. She pulled her sweater around her body, closing it so he wouldn’t see much of her shape and she drank nervously from her water. Erikur looked around, smirking as he did and he turned to Balgruuf.

“Balgruuf, my good man, how about a drink?” he said like he was his servant. Balgruuf stared at him, offended. “I feel like… Honningbrew.”

“The cooler’s right there,” Balgruuf said rather coldly. “Irileth? How much longer until the first steaks are done?”

“They’re done now,” she said, opening the lid and the poor man sighed, looking to the small gathering of some of the most powerful men and women in the province of Skyrim.

“Please,” he said. “Find a seat. Enjoy yourselves. We will be eating shortly!”

“Oh,” Elisif said. “Is this meat grass-fed? I’m on an organic only diet and I cannot eat meat that hasn’t been treated well.”

Irileth looked at her. “It’s from Costco.”

Elisif frowned. “What’s a Costco?”

“Here we go,” Faleen said, chugging down her beer so she could grab another and Aslfur cracked open the wine for Idgrod and him, both taking more than a glass. Siddgeir downed the rest of his beer, placing the bottle beside the chair and he moved to get up so he could fetch another from the cooler Igmund was already diving in to. Nenya stopped him.

“Siddgeir?” she said and he looked back at her. “Please, can you get me one?”

He frowned until Erikur’s voice came. “Well, well. Nenya, you pretty little filly. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

She paled and turned, her eyes meeting Erikur’s as he looked at her from near the cooler and she clutched her glass tightly. Siddgeir sighed.

“I’ll get you a vodka and rum.”

“Please,” she said, desperate. She didn’t care that her stomach was empty, she needed a drink now and it had better be strong enough that she wouldn’t be able to remember that day. She had a feeling she was going to regret it.

 

\-------

 

If there was one thing on earth she was thankful for, it was Bryling. Bryling honestly was the best thing to come out of Solitude since the fishing boom and when Erikur approached her, his eyes running over her as he did, he was stopped by her voice.

“Erikur!” Bryling shouted from the screen door, shutting it behind her before she paused, nodding to Balgruuf who turned to see who had come through his door. “Oh, thanks for inviting us Balgruuf. You have a real lovely house.”

“Bryling,” he said, almost relieved. “Good to see you again.”

She smiled a bit. “Always good to see you too,” she said and she let her coat slide off her arms revealing she was in a simple blouse underneath. Her pants had a crisp line on them but they were still rather casual - something picked up no doubt at a woman’s only store but with little thought - and she dropped her jacket on the top of a chair before she went to Erikur who had paused, his face souring.

“Hey,” she said, annoyed. “You need to go find another place to park the car.”

“Me?” he said, equally annoyed.

“Yes, you,” she shot back. “That isn’t my vehicle and you can’t park that close to a fire hydrant.” She took out a pair of keys and shoved them at him. “Go move it.”

He glared at her, looking back to Nenya who flushed and he grumbled, forced to go move his car. When he entered the house, Nenya couldn’t help but let out a reflexive, relieved sigh. Bryling looked to her as she pressed a hand briefly against her chest.

“Nenya, right?” she said and she looked to her, nodding. “It’s been a while. You’re Siddgeir’s assistant, right? That must keep you busy.”

She gave her a half-smile. “Yes. And yes, I am. It’s great to see you again Bryling.”

She picked up on it. “Erikur bothering you already? Fucking Talos, that man.”

She sighed, about to respond when Siddgeir came back, holding a drink for her. She took it, sipping it immediately and she cringed at the taste. He cracked the seal on another Black-Briar, noticing her look.

“He didn’t have any Vodka, like a peasant,” he said. “So you get rum and coke.”

“Whatever,” she muttered and he turned his attention to Bryling.

“Well, look who it is,” he said, raising a brow. “The only competent person from Elisif’s branch.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Siddgeir,” she pointed to his beer. “Still keeping Maven’s company afloat, I see?”

“Fucking right,” he said, taking a drink. “You want one?”

“No,” she declined. “I have to drive tonight. Otherwise we’d be spending a night here and I really don’t want to spend a night here.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling out his cigarettes again making Nenya purse her lips. He was smoking way too much that day but she kept quiet as he slipped one between his lips again. Bryling raised a brow and he offered, which was surprising, and even more so that she accepted. He lit hers first, finishing with his and both let a long line of smoke out making Nenya struggle not to cough. “The Fairmont here sucks. Last time, they fucking didn’t give me a godsdamned paper or anything in the morning. Then they assumed I wasn’t in the executive club because I went to the ‘wrong desk’ to check out. Idiots.”

Bryling smirked a bit. “I stay at the Marriott.”

“Okay, loser,” he said making Nenya flush a bit. She was about to chastise him when Bryling laughed.

“Says the boy driving a yellow hot wheels car,” she teased. “What is that thing? Did you have to send in a bunch of cereal box tops to get it?”

“Fuck you,” he smiled, taking a drink. “My fucking Saleen can beat your ugly-ass loser cruiser mobile any day.”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I just bought a new vehicle.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“A Lexus,” she said in almost a dreamy voice.

“Wow. The vehicle preferred by middle-aged mom’s everywhere. Go you.”

She elbowed him making him chuckle and she took a drag of her cigarette. “You’re going to be driving one of those one day. With a van full of kids.”

“Not fucking likely,” he said. “Once I get a vasectomy, I’ll be shooting blanks into whatever girl is lucky enough to get in my bed.”

That immediately made her frown and she had to say something before Bryling did. “A vasectomy? When did you decide this?”

He looked to her, his face falling a bit and she flushed at his mood change. It bothered her deeply how he did that. She knew at the moment she was the third wheel but he shouldn’t make her feel like it. He shook his head, took a drink, and responded but he didn’t look at her as he did.

“A long time ago, Nenya.”

She pursed her lips and Bryling raised a brow. She took her side which was surprising, again. “Someone your age shouldn’t get a vasectomy, Siddgeir. You could change your mind on having kids.”

“Not fucking likely,” he said, annoyed. Bryling folded her arms, giving him a look.

“Look, kid, you’re young,” she said and he soured a bit, his eyes narrowing at her. “When you’re thirty-six you may want a child. You wife may want one too.”

“Not getting married,” he said immediately and she sighed.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

He furrowed his brows at her, his friendliness vanishing. “What is with you fucking people? If I say I don’t want something, I’m not going to change my mind down the line. I don’t want to get married and I sure as fuck don’t want any kids.”

Bryling picked up on hostility and she raised her head a bit, judging him, before she pulled her cigarette from her mouth, looking how much she had left. She blew the smoke from her teeth, looking behind her and she raised her brows, turning.

“Alright, kid,” she said, moving to leave. “Do what you want.”

She left them making him flush and Nenya sighed, sipping more of her drink which burned her throat. Siddgeir took a long drink, giving her a look as if she caused it and she pursed her lips.

“That wasn’t my fault!” she said and he scoffed, moving to go sit down again leaving her alone. She sighed, rolling her eyes, drinking her damn rum and coke and she was contemplating what to do when Irileth banged her tongs on top of the barbecue lid.

“If you want a steak, grab from the pile or come tell me,” she told them all. “Otherwise, you’re all getting chicken.”

She frowned, looking to where Igmund was grabbing a steak but she didn’t partake. She preferred chicken and she looked to Siddgeir but he didn’t move, his phone out again as he was flicking through something and she sighed. She resigned to sitting in the wooden chair next to him, focusing instead on taking in the people and sights around them instead of mingling for some reason.

Balgruuf did have a beautiful backyard. His desk was nice, done in treated wood and everything and there were stones leading to a shed tucked in the corner. But the rest was open, the neighbours trees shading their property. His three kids had plenty of room to run around but it wasn’t so big that mowing would be an absolute chore. She could see a soccer ball near the gate, no doubt one of the kids and she wondered what other sport they could do in their yard when the screen door opened. Erikur came back and she sunk down in her chair making Siddgeir look to her.

She took a drink. A long drink.

“What’s the matter with you?” he said before his eyes flicked up. He frowned deeply, adjusting in his chair and he took a drink himself. She let out a sigh and folded her sweater over herself.

She was praying to the divines he would go to one of the other cluster of groups. Idgrod, Faleen, and Elisif were around Irileth as she cooked while the other men and Bryling were standing around the table. Igmund was eating and Aslfur took a steak but mostly they were shooting the shit.

He instead headed for her and she looked at her drink. She had to remind herself to be damn pleasant and when she raised her head, he came to her.

“Sorry for that interruption,” he said and she gave him a weak smile. “Nenya, my dear, stand up! Let me have a good look at you.”

Her fingers gripped her glass hard enough she could have broke it. “U-Uh…”

“Come on, let’s not be shy,” he said in a rather slimy voice. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re still quite the beauty, for an elf.”

She went red. Gods, why. Before she could respond, Siddgeir did for her.

“Erikur,” his voice came drawling from beside her and she looked to him. His eyes were still on his phone but he placed his cigarette down on the arm of the chair. “What the fuck do you want?”

Erikur scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I said, what the fuck do you want?” he repeated himself, irritated. Erikur only pressed his tongue briefly against his cheek, shooting him a glance.

“I’m clearly not talking to you.”

He put his phone away quietly, taking a drink before he stood and got very close to him making Nenya shift her legs, tension soon filling the air.

“I don’t fucking care,” he said. “Get the fuck away from my assistant.”

He didn’t. In fact, he took his threat as a challenge. “Your assistant? You own her?” he said in a mocking voice. Her boss didn’t crack a smile.

“Get the fuck away from us,” he said back, his teeth clenching a bit and Nenya found herself flushing. Erikur still didn’t back down.

“What, you involved with her?” he looked at her and she paled. He wasn’t but the fact he implied it was mortifying. “You two work fuck buddies?”

She went absolutely white at his words but Siddgeir didn’t back down. “I’m not going to say it again. Get the fuck away from her. And get the fuck away from me.”

Erikur snorted and he looked to Nenya who flushed a bit. “I’m disappointed in you,” he said to her making her frown. “I never thought you’d whore out to your boss. No wonder you’re his assistant.”

That made her snap. “How dare you!” she said, getting up and Siddgeir was on it. He got in Erikur’s face, forcing him to move back.

“Fuck off, Erikur,” he snapped and she came right beside him, furious such a thing was suggested. Erikur, instead, found it amusing, beginning to chuckle at them until his name was called.

“Erikur!” Elisif’s voice came and all three looked up. They were all watching them, every eye on her making Nenya turn pink and the damned prick turned to his boss. “Is everything all right over there?”

He went to speak but Siddgeir did first. “Get your fucking lap dog away from my assistant, Elisif.”

Elisif bristled. “E-Excuse me?”

“He’s bothering her and me,” he said without pausing and Erikur looked to him, scoffing a bit.

“I merely went to talk to Nenya,” Erikur defended himself. “And this boy thought that meant I was talking to him.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Siddgeir spat back and she flushed. He wasn’t wrong.

“Is that a fact or your opinion?” Erikur said in a low voice at him. His eyes flicked to her making her stiffen before he smirked a bit. “Whatever. Keep your elven bitch. I don’t care. You Falkreath hicks can keep interbreeding with each other.”

He turned, moving back towards the rest of them and Nenya felt herself shake a bit and Siddgeir straightened, pulling out his phone again. She could still feel eyes on her and Erikur went towards Bryling who didn’t seem pleased and she stopped watching, going to sit down again. Siddgeir grabbed his cigarette, taking a long drag before he dialed a number and moved a slight ways from her leaving her alone.

So, she drank, embarrassed, and furious at that damned man. Slowly everyone seemed to get back to what they were talking about but Idgrod and Faleen’s voices were lower as they chatted making her flush. She was not the one who made scenes at parties and she looked to Siddgeir who had wandered to near the edge of the lawn, speaking quickly on his phone.

Gods, how dare Erikur. First for ever suggesting she was sleeping with Siddgeir. She had known him since he was a boy and when he used to come to the office when she was under Dengeir, ruining her papers and complaining loudly on being stuck there when his dad was talking to his brother. She considered him - as sad as it was - family since she no longer had any and she still had no interest in having children. He was like the nephew she never wanted but inexplicably cared for.

Second, for saying she only got her position through sleeping with him. That burned her up the most. She damn well worked hard to get her job. She wasn’t some woman who sat behind a desk and redirected calls while doing her nails. She damn well set up all of Siddgeir’s schedules along with his other managers. It was often her going out to logging sites to check on the work with the manager of maintenance or planning. She was the one who spoke to the other sites, having intense conversations with Raerek in Markarth or Falk in Solitude.

She sent out the company notices, emergencies, inter-office emails, and planned the retirement parties, business meetings in Falkreath, and any flights for Siddgeir when he had to go somewhere. She earned her job because she was so… so fucking good at it, by Arkay! And that bastard would collapse if he even tried to do a quarter of her duties!

Her glass was downed at the thought, the liquid burning her throat making her light headed and her stomach warm when Siddgeir came back. He sat down next to her and she glared at him making him look to her.

“What?”

“I fucking earned my job!” she hissed making him stare. “How… how dare he! How bloody well dare he suggest I only got it because you want to have sex with me!”

He scoffed a bit. “Yeah, like I’d ever want to have sex with you,” he said making her turn red. She felt the same but when he said it, it sounded a lot more like she was the problem herself and she gripped her empty glass. “Just ignore him. He’s a fucking idiot.”

“No,” she said, furious still. “I don’t want everyone here to think I got my job because we’ve had sex! Which we didn’t! I am a professional, Siddgeir! And to have my reputation ruined because a… a fucking… A fucking prick from Solitude didn’t get to tell me how he wants to violate me? I-I will not tolerate it!”

“Okay, calm down,” he said, looking at her. “No one thinks that.”

“How do you know?” she hissed at him and he let out an irritated sigh, reaching up to rub his temples.

“Because it’s fucking Erikur!” he said. “No one fucking cares what he has to say? Besides, if you want to damage reputations, just bring up Erikur’s bastard kid in Valenwood.” That made her pause.

“What kid?”

He looked to her. “You don’t remember?” She gave him a blank expression making him roll his eyes. “Don’t you remember when we went to that gala hosted by the Summerset Isles Government? Where you met Ambassador Elenwen?”

“…Yes,” she said carefully. She remembered the Ambassador but only because of the look she gave her. Like she was disappointed in her for living and working in Skyrim. It was like facing her Grandmother all over again.

“Yeah, well, remember that Bosmer girl who was there? She was serving drinks?”

“Not really.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways. Erikur hit on her. She refused to have anything to do with him and he made a scene like a fucking three year old and she was taken away.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s terrible.”

“You think?” he said sarcastically. “Anyways, she had a sister. From what I hear, her sister came to him to make an appeal to get her sister out of the government’s jail by sleeping with him.”

She heart sank. “Oh gods.”

“He said he would but this is fucking Erikur. Anyways, he bangs the sister, then her sister suddenly goes missing and that girl is pissed about it. But nothing she can do. Until a month or whatever later, she comes back with her blackmail. She’s pregnant. She threatens to take Erikur to court and expose him for sleeping with her with as a deal to free her sister who he had no intention of freeing.”

She frowned. “There’s… no way that would hold up in court.”

“It wouldn’t,” he agreed. “She was basically laughed out. But she had a legitimate claim he has to pay child support and he swept it under the rug.”

“Why?”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “A half-Bosmer, half-Nord kid who came about because their mother thought opening her legs would solve her problems? No Nord would confess to that.”

She frowned, empathetic for the girl. “She was trying to help her sister.”

“Yeah, but being a slut isn’t the way to do that,” he said, looking to his phone and she frowned even more at his statement, looking to Erikur who was making Balgruuf agitated. She knew Nords. She knew how deep their sense of honor went and she felt terrible for the Bosmer women involved but, as much as she hated to admit it, they did it in the wrong way.

She would never condemn another woman for sleeping with someone out of marriage. After all, she had done it a few times even though it usually was highly unsatisfying. But Erikur was just… reprehensible in every way. He was ridiculous. And getting involved with him never was a good thing. Actually, she was lucky Siddgeir was beside her otherwise he would be probably still trying to court her.

The thought made her sigh and she looked at her empty glass, a few ice cubes still in it.

“Siddgeir?”

“Hn,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely. He looked to her confused. “For… For stepping in when Erikur was here.”

“Whatever,” he said, flipping through his phone and she sighed, leaning back against the chair. She watched everyone still chatting with her and her boss on the sidelines when Irileth pulled some chicken off the grill, putting them on a plate.

“Chicken’s done,” she said and Balgruuf looked to her.

“There’s some chicken!” he told them all, despite them just hearing it from Irileth and Faleen, Idgrod, and Elisif moved. She watched them, all congregating around the table now being laden with food and she looked to her boss.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” he said, moving to play with his cigarette between his fingers. “If you’re getting up, you can get me another beer.”

She sighed but did so. After all, she did owe him. She went to the table, trying to ignore the bit of awkwardness and she avoided Erikur, cutting behind Faleen. Faleen looked to her, her brows raising before she nodded to Erikur. She rolled her eyes, shuddering and it got her some sympathy. Faleen leaned down near her.

“He’s a cunt,” she said making her mouth drop open a bit. “The only thing he’s good for is driving, and he can’t even do that well.” She tried not to laugh.

“Thanks, Faleen,” she said in a soft voice and the woman seemed to beam. She let her take a good chunk of salad first before giving her choice of the chicken breasts and she grabbed a beer before she went back to Siddgeir. He took it, not opening it right away and she sat beside him and ate, the rest of them branching off.

Idgrod came to sit near them making Siddgeir sink in his seat but Nenya turned to her politely. The elderly CEO raised her brows, sitting down.

“Well, this party is certainly interesting,” Idgrod said, balancing the plate on her knees as Nenya did. “Only took five minutes for Erikur to make an ass of himself.”

Nenya smiled.

“How are you, my dear?” Idgrod said, her voice genuine. “It feels like it’s been more than a year since I’ve seen you.”

She let out a soft laugh. She actually couldn’t pinpoint when she had seen her last but it did feel like a year. “I’ve been good.”

“And what about your baggage?” she said, pointing a fork to Siddgeir. “How’s he?”

“Fuck off, Idgrod,” he responded, obviously listening and Nenya turned pink. Idgrod merely snorted.

“Typical.”

“He’s been well,” she tried to mediate. “How have you been, Idgrod? Joric’s gotten quite big, hasn’t he? It feels like it was only yesterday we got the announcement you were pregnant.”

“Ha,” Idgrod said. “Feels like it’s been exactly ten years since I’ve had him. Kids don’t grow up fast like they used to,” she said, picking through her salad. “This year has been dragging on.”

“How come?” she asked, trying to be empathetic and Idgrod sighed.

“Special schools won’t take him anymore. He has to go to public, according to them. His grades have slipped to much for them to want to keep him in the high academic leagues. My child’s as smart as he ever was but they won’t believe me.”

“Your kid’s fucking weird,” Siddgeir said beside her and she turned red, shooting him a look which he didn’t care that he got. Idgrod snorted a bit.

“I’m sure you were the poster child for normal when you were his age,” she said. “Or shall I bring up the dead deer incident?”

He lowered his phone, his eyes flashing with anger and Nenya flushed. She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to know. She instead turned to Idgrod, focusing on her and blocking Siddgeir from her view.

“W-What school would he have to go to?” she asked. “Morthal has decent schools, don’t they?”

The old woman’s eyes moved to her, softening a bit but she still made one look at Siddgeir before she continued, going back to her food.

“Morthal’s school is small,” she said. “Most parents would rather do as we do and pay for a bus to come and take the kids to Solitude. They get a better understanding of the world from a city such as that instead of the bogs of the marsh.”

“Didn’t your eldest go to a school in Morthal?” Nenya frowned. “I remember her graduating at the high school there.”

“Idgrod? Yes, my eldest did. But her marks dropped dramatically in High School. Once she fell in with that crowd that used to skip all the time and go into the marsh to cause trouble. Kids in the academic schools don’t skip because they can’t,” she said. “Their classes keep them busy. Out in Morthal, teachers don’t care.”

“They don’t care in Solitude either,” Siddgeir said from behind her. “Your fucking weird kid will skip if he wants. He probably already does.”

Idgrod leaned up, looking over Nenya at him and she turned red. She looked to him and he didn’t move, typing something on his phone.

“My Joric isn’t you, Siddgeir.”

“No, he’s not,” he agreed. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be so fucking creepy.”

“Like you’re not.”

He looked to her and Nenya flushed. “S-Siddgeir…” she tried and he shot her a look that made her go silent. This was awkward. This was incredibly awkward.

Before she could pray for a distraction, one came. Joric’s son came from inside the house, walking out quietly and Siddgeir nodded.

“Here comes your little spawn right now,” he said, eyes sliding back to his phone and Idgrod looked up. The boy wandered to her, his grey eyes rather glassy and she put her plate down.

“Joric, honey,” she said in an entirely different tone. “Is something wrong?”

The boy shrugged, coming to her and she opened her arms, pulling him into them. He sat on her knee, his clouded eyes looking to Nenya and she felt her skin prickle a bit.

“’m having visions…” he said. “There’s a tower. You can only see it from the side, though. And something collapsing.”

Idgrod rubbed his back and Nenya frowned a bit, looking to her plate when she heard Siddgeir mutter beside her.

“Fucking weird kid.”

She shot him a look again but he wouldn’t meet her eye making her a bit frustrated when Joric spoke again.

“I can tell their deaths.”

She turned to him and he was staring right at her making her stiffen. Idgrod rubbed his back, looking to where he was.

“Not right now, honey.”

He pointed to Nenya. “Somewhere warm,” he said. “Comforting. She’ll be okay.”

That made her stare. What? She couldn’t help but gape at him a little, flabbergasted. She didn’t know if it was a joke or not or if he meant her but his eyes unnerved her enough.

“Okay, honey, that’s enough,” she said, moving to lower Joric’s hand. He pointed past her, right at Siddgeir.

“A wreckage,” he said making Siddgeir actually look up, his green eyes moving to look at the boy from the corner of his eye. “A lot of damage. Things broken.”

Nenya had to look to him and his eyes met hers. He shifted, uncomfortable, his eyes moving back to the boy and she had to as well. What did that mean?

“Idgrod,” Siddgeir warned and she lowered Joric’s hand. His clouded eyes seemed to clear a bit and he blinked, looking around before he noticed the soccer ball in the corner.

“Can I go play?” he asked and Idgrod sighed.

“Of course, honey,” she said and he left her, going to the ball. As soon as he was well enough away, Siddgeir began snarling.

“What the fuck was that?” he spat, putting his phone down to look at Idgrod. She only raised her head up a bit, not intimidated. “What the fuck is wrong with your kid, you old hippie bat?!”

“It’s you who has the problem, Siddgeir,” she said in a dignified tone. “Joric was merely having a vision. Nothing more.”

“What, how we die? What the flying fuck?!” he spat and Nenya found herself exhaling. She did not believe much in the supernatural. She believed in ghosts and some paranormal activity but having visions was not one of them. But the boy had unnerved her and what he said about Siddgeir. What had he been implying? Her thoughts were cut off by Idgrod speaking again.

“He cannot control what he sees,” Idgrod merely said, watching her child pick up the soccer ball to kick around. “It’s his gift.”

“Bullshit!” Siddgeir snapped. “He was making shit up and you go along with it! Your entire family is fucking weird!”

She gave him a hard look. “Joric’s visions are not false, Siddgeir. You of all people should know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he spat.

“Your mother-”

“Don’t you fucking mention my mother!” he cut in, his voice raising and Nenya felt eyes on them again. She looked, seeing everyone was staring at them again and she turned, once again embarrassed.

“Siddgeir!” she said in an almost hysterical tone as she tried to keep her voice down. “Drop it!”

“What?” he shot back, looking to her. “I’m not going to drop it!”

“You’re making a scene!”

“Are you fucking kidding?” he snapped. “That weird fucking kid just came and told you and me how we’re going to die and I’m the one making a fucking scene?” he got up, throwing his cigarette down to step out in the grass making Balgruuf glare. “Holy fuck, all of you are fucking insane. This is why I stay in Falkreath!”

“Siddgeir!”

“As you should!” Idgrod said. “That is your place, Siddgeir, in Falkreath! Not going to Riften every two weeks to live with Maven and ignore our emails!”

“What?” he snapped, moving to glare at her. “What I fucking do on my vacation time-”

“That is not vacation time, and you know it!” she said right back making Igmund’s brows raise and Elisif cover her mouth. “Now sit back down, Siddgeir. Your assistant is right. You are making a scene.”

“Fuck. You.” He spat and Bryling shook her head as Balgruuf began to sweat.

“I-Irileth,” he said. “How much longer on those-”

“Siddgeir, you shouldn’t say such things!” Elisif’s voice came and all eyes went to her. Nenya paled a bit. No, no, no, that was the wrong thing to do. The last thing her boss would want to hear is something from her and she shook her head but it was ignored. “You sound like you have low iron-”

“Shut the fuck up, Elisif!” he immediately said. “I sure as fuck don’t want to fucking hear you!”

She went red. “H-How dare you!”

“I told you,” Erikur smirked. “He’s out of control. Him and his assistant,” his eyes moved to her and she went red. “I don’t know why you bother including him in anything, Balgruuf.”

Balgruuf frowned deeply, ignoring Erikur but his eyes did move to Siddgeir in disappointment. He only scoffed, pulling out his phone and he turned.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he said, looking at the time. “Nenya, we’re going.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Get up!” he snapped. “We’re going!”

“W-Why?” She looked to them all but they gave no answer, only watching the scene unfold making her tinge pink in embarrassment. She wasn’t drunk enough to be the center of attention. “S-Siddgeir!”

“We have to go,” he spat, looking at her and she went red when her eyes met his again. He was furious. “Two fucking logging trucks flipped on the road near Helgen. We need to go back and I have to deal with it!”

She paused, taken off guard. “W-What? When did this happen?”

“Forty minutes ago,” he said, snapping his fingers at her. “Get up!” he commanded as he began moving to the gate.

“H-How?” was all she could sputter as she had to abandon her plate, looking to the small crowd. Faleen’s eyes had widened and immediately Aslfur was saying something to Igmund. She flushed.

“I don’t fucking know!” he snapped, moving to get his keys and she followed a bit before she paused and turned back. She couldn’t leave. Well, she wanted to, truly, but despite it all, she was not rude and she rushed back. Balgruuf was watching Siddgeir move to his vehicle and she came to him, her face flushing.

“Balgruuf, I’m so sorry,” she tried and his eyes met hers. “Please, I’m so sorry for all of this. You have no idea-”

“It’s alright, Nenya,” he said, sighing. “It wouldn’t quite feel right if we all met and something dramatic didn’t happen.”

She went crimson in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry-”

“NENYA!” Siddgeir shouted.

“So, so, sorry,” she stressed more and Balgruuf gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I understand,” he said. “I hope you make it home safe and everything’s alright.”

She flushed, turning to quickly wave at the rest of them before she had to run. She just shut her door when his engine revved and his tires squealed making her flatten against the back of the seat. He shot out of the spot they had parked, racing down the road and she fumbled with her seatbelt before she snapped it in place. He didn’t stop, cutting through a stop sign and she looked to him, horrified.

“Siddgeir,” she said just his name. He gripped the wheel tight, moving through the narrow streets and the faster he went, the more hysterical she got. Not from fear but from being hit with a full wave of embarrassment. Why did this always happen? “Siddgeir!”

He slowed down. “What!?”

“Gods, can you not?” she said, her mortification hitting her hard. “You are such an embarrassment sometimes!”

“Nenya, shut the fuck up!” he said in a tone that made her go rigid in anger. “I don’t want to fucking hear it!”

“Well, you’re going to!” she spat. “You were invited to Balgruuf’s for a pleasant time and you have to act like such a… a fucking asshole? What is wrong with you?!”

He sped up, shooting down another suburban area making her heart pound.

“Slow down!”

“Shut up!”

“Siddgeir!” she shouted, her nerves on end. “By the divines, will you fucking grow up?”

He came to a stop, doing it hard making her almost have whiplash and he looked to her, his green eyes cold, his knuckles white and she seethed, giving him an equal look back.

“I don’t want to hear another fucking word from you,” he said in a low tone. “Otherwise you will get out and walk.” She glared at him. “I’ve got two trucks flipped and a third lodged in a ditch and my shareholders going ballistic.”

“That gives you no excuse to be so rude!” she said and he made a fist before he retracted it.

“I don’t care.”

“I do!” she spat. “Those are your fucking colleagues, Siddgeir!”

“They’ll get over it!”

“Will they?” she shouted at him. “Because the way you act, the way you push them, they could pull out completely from you!” Her hands shook. “You were nothing but rude today! And I’m mortified to even be associated with you!”

“Oh, quit being fucking dramatic!” he spat. “The reason this company is doing well is solely because of my tactics, not on how fucking nice I am to a bunch of other Hold CEOs!”

“You are running the company into the ground with your tactics, Siddgeir! The only reason you have not been ousted it probably because they still back you for some reason and you constantly push them to the point where they could pull out!”

“Then let them!” he shouted. “What would I fucking care!”

“Fine!” she finally broke. “Fine! This company would benefit from you being gone anyways! At least then we could get back to business and have proper relations instead of your constant fits and shoddy deals! It would be nothing but a benefit to the entire damn company if you left!”

He gave her a cold look, his fingers digging into his steering wheel and after she said it, something filled her as she looked at him.

Guilt.

He looked away, throwing the car into drive and they shot down the streets again, his driving near erratic until they got to the edge of the city. He then slowed down, obeying the speed limits and she sat awkwardly in her seat, the air in the vehicle thick with tension but neither one of them addressed it. She looked out the window, struggling with her absolute fury and the guilt of saying such a thing. She was right and he damn well knew it too. That was what was so difficult about this and she exhaled, watching the landscape. Honestly, she was so embarrassed and mortified. He was such a damn irresponsible child.

They hit the Granite Station again, him exiting to fuel and she sat in her seat, exhaling. She rubbed her eyes, her body so tense it hurt and she slumped back for the few minutes she could. Gods have mercy on her.

He came back without anything, throwing his vehicle into drive again and as they moved to pull out she found herself shaking a bit. The tension filled the car and it was damn well choking her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He didn’t reply.

It was dusk when they hit Falkreath and he tore through the streets again, winding around the corners until he hit her apartment where he stopped short making her jerk a bit. She sat, awkward, looking to him but he didn’t look at her. She wanted to say something, really, but she was exhausted and tired and utterly sick of him. When she got out, he didn’t even wait for her to get to her apartment. He merely burned down her street, ignoring the stop sign at the end and she watched his yellow vehicle disappear making her sigh.

Honestly.

She took the stairs up to her floor, trying to keep herself awake and she entered her darkening apartment, sighing as she locked her deadbolt. She remained at the door for a few minutes, staring at the while paint and the gold lock before she slipped out of her shoes.

Why did he have to make everything so difficult? Why couldn’t they ever just have a nice time out somewhere without it turning into a huge fight or a scene? She dropped her keys in the bowl by her door, moving to get out of her clothes and she switched into her pajama bottoms and sweater, opening her balcony door after to let in some air. She listened to the traffic below, the sounds of music playing from the convenience store near her apartment before she went to sit on her couch, relaxing a bit.

Between him, Erikur, and the vague details of her death, she was exhausted. She turned on the television, flicking through the channels until she fell onto Law and Order and she laid down, curling a bit as she watched Jack McCoy, sighing.

Tomorrow, she’d begin the apology emails and damage control. She’d beg Elisif and her associates to forgive him, make arrangements to send Balgruuf a gift to Irileth and him and something to Igmund over the whole Faleen thing. Idgrod would need something as well, the poor woman’s child insulted and she grew weary at the list of things to do.

“That fucking idiot…” she muttered to herself. Only Law and Order seemed to make it better.

 

 

It was one-thirty when she got a call.

“Hello?” she said, groggy, the light from her television blinding her and how cold her apartment had got making her shake.

“Hello, is this Nenya?” a woman’s voice came.

“Y-Yes?”

“Hello, Nenya, this is Nurse Heding from the Lower Falkreath Hospital,” the woman’s voice came making her frown. “You are listed as an emergency contact for one Siddgeir. Is this correct?”

She sobered. “Yes…” she said. “What’s this about?”

“Siddgeir has been admitted into the hospital,” the nurse said without feeling. “We need you to come down and sign some release forms.”

“T-The hospital?” she sputtered. “What happened?”

There was a pause, the sounds of papers moving making her heart pound fast. “All we have is a car accident listed. We understand it is late but we need these release forms signed if we are to perform surgery.”

“Surgery?” she was up now. “Oh, gods. Oh, by the Nine, how bad is it? W-What happened to him? Is he alright?”

“Ma’am, we need you to calm down,” the nurse said. “The release forms need to be signed and we cannot get in contact with his mother or father. If you can come down, we can get started. Come to the emergency entrance. The nurse at the window will be able to help.”

“B-But-” She heard noises in the background, the sounds of shouting and the nurse on the line grew impatient.

“If you cannot, we cannot go further with this,” the nurse stressed. “Excuse me.” The line clicked, a soothing soundtrack soon filling the line and she stared at her phone, wide awake. Gods. Gods, what was this. If she wasn’t guilty before she sure was now and she rushed to grab some clothes, shutting her phone off as she scrambled. She’d call a cab. She’d get down there. And by the gods he better not be dead.

She recalled Joric. The way he pointed and what he said and a cold feeling went down her spine.

He better not be dead.

 

\-------


	27. Reyda Will Come Back (Reyda & Narfi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Anything having to do with Reyda. How did she die?
> 
>  
> 
> Personally, this is how I imagined it. I'm still on board with the Wilhelm at the Inn isn't what he seems but then again, who says Reyda and Narfi's deaths are a conspiracy?

All she needed was a few more bones. She had tried the haunted barrow but the bones there outside the door crumbled too easily and the ghost had scared her off. She wasn't nearly as strong as she had hoped with her magic so she couldn't face the ghost down. It left her with either travelling into the bear caves to fetch dead bodies or Geirmund's Hall. She chose the hall.

Narfi had begun to get suspicious on where she was going but she merely kept to her promise she was collecting ingredients for soups and stocks and when she came back they would eat like they had before. Of course it was a lie but he didn't have to know. Her brother was sweet and she loved him dearly but if he knew about what she was doing he would only raise questions or even worse, follow her and try it himself. Then the entire town would be after them both. She was careful, he wasn't. 

So she left him in the dark, buying nails for him to repair their house which was falling down due to the lack of upkeep. He could swing a hammer, cut a board, and chop logs for the fire. It was all he needed to do while she worked.

And then her break came. A body had floated up onto the shore one day near the northwestern side of the hall. It was a conjurer, with black robes she could tell were enchanted and she stripped the body immediately for them. The extra boost would help and she harvested organs from the dead Altmer, collecting as much as she could. Soon, she would bring their parents back to life and everything would be okay again. The body was a gift from the gods for her work, she just knew, and she went home that night with a bright smile on her face.

It had faded when Narfi got into her stuff, wanting mushrooms and honeysuckle after their meagre soup. She had screamed at him making him distressed before she moved to leave, taking everything in her satchel with her.

"Reyda!" he had said, not understanding what he had done and she tied her precious satchel hastily to her belt. "Reyda, I'm sorry! Narfi's sorry! Don't go!"

"Narfi-!" she spat, so angry she couldn't see but she calmed herself, knowing not to raise her voice so high with him. "I'm going out. To get plants. I'll be back later."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise," she said rather quickly and she left with her satchel, her bones, and her potion of magicka. She was going to revive their parents, she swore before she lost all her things to Narfi and his damned curiosity.

Only something unexpected happened. While she was crossing the bridge, her belt came undone. All her ingredients spilled out, her butterfly wings falling over the edge and into the water and she panicked as she grabbed her precious finds. She shoved it all into her bag, bones falling out which she had to run to collect and in her haste, she lost her footing. She fell over the edge of the bridge and hit the water.

She could swim. She had known since she was a little girl but the weight of her collected bones, the robes she had put on which were new and not hers combined with the night and darkness of the water made her confused. She went down, not up, tangled herself in the weeds, her new robes catching on the rocks and with it, she sank.

All the while her brother sat at home, frowning at fire. He went to where his sister slept, pried off the board he knew she used to keep her treasures hidden and he looked at the wooden box kept below. He moved to open it as he had hundreds of times before but for some reason, tonight he knew he shouldn't. He replaced the board and went to sit in front of the fire, waiting.

"Reyda will come back," he said with a frown. "Reyda always comes back."

 

\--


	28. Sating Hunger is a Necessary Chore (Melaran/Sybille)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Sybille. Melaran. Midnight snack.
> 
>  
> 
> Short, sweet, and finished today. It was really easy to do but I think that's because tapping into Sybille being half a monster is just really fun to write.
> 
> Additional Tags: Frottage, Vampire Feeding, Shy Altmers, Sybille being a Dom

She was hungry and she was all out of ‘wine’. It had been ages since anyone had broken the law in Solitude leaving her hungry for any sustenance she could get. At first she had tried to abstain but it became too difficult. And with Falk on edge recently due to Potema’s remains showing up, she wasn’t in the mood to become suspected of something and exposed. No, she needed her fix and she sat tense in her room, her knee bouncing up and down as she did.

Anything. Even a beggar. Someone in Solitude had to break the law or she damn well was going to make them. She thought about descending upon the town and using her seduction to get some person in jail - one of the market stall owners perhaps - when a knock drew her eyes up.

“What?” she said in a rude tone, biting her thumb to keep down her bestial nature and the door opened, a head poking in.

“Sybille?” Melaran’s voice came and she tensed slightly. “I brought you back some books from the trader.”

She looked at him, her blood rumbling and she just wanted to pin him down and suck the sweet liquid from his veins dry but she held herself back. He was her… well, something. It wasn’t a friend as friends rarely had heated sessions where their tongues went down each other’s throats but he wasn’t a lover either since the damn bastard was still too nervous to pull out his cock.

She smoothed down her robes, moving to take the books and he gave her a shy smile. She tipped the spines towards herself, reading off the titles before she sighed. “I have all these.”

“What?” he said, his smiling fading fast into a frown and he looked down. “A-All of them?”

“Yes,” she said, shoving them back to him making him flush and she turned, aching. “Thanks for trying, though.”

He sighed. “…Y-Yeah.” His disappointment was obvious and she went to fetch some actual wine, pouring herself a glass.

“You can probably return them, Melaran. Or at least sell them back.”

He frowned, his shoulders slumping a bit. “No… I’ll… I’ll keep them. For myself,” he said, defeated. “I suppose I can read them while Erikur is parading around here.”

She raised her brows. Yes, that pompous ass. If she wasn’t so sure his blood was made out of the vilest shit in Tamriel, she would have made him a husk by now. “You might as well.”

He nodded, turning to leave and she felt a pain shoot up her, dropping her goblet onto the floor making him pause. It was a burning sensation in her, like she was ascending to a higher level of her vampirism and she thirsted so bad she fell to her knees, hissing.

“Sybille!” Melaran said in shock and he dropped his books, rushing to her side. “Sybille, are you alright? Guards? Guards!”

“I’m fine!” she said in a voice full of venom and she shoved him off, collecting herself, her canines retracting. Footsteps came from the corner, chainmail shaking and two guards entered her room.

“Someone called for help?” one said, alert and Melaran frowned, looking to her and she almost let herself go loose.

“I’m FINE!” she spat causing the men in her room to stiffen. “Leave me!”

The guards did as she said, terrified of her from just her voice but Melaran didn’t move. He remained by her side, offering his hand but she swatted it away.

“I said I’m fine!” she said in her normal voice and he pursed his lips.

“Sybille,” he said. “Your eyes are glowing.”

She froze. That was not intentional and she began to blink to try and get her fake eyes back, her vision dulling as she did. When she was sure she had them as the room was dark again, she looked to him and he nodded making her relax.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked in a low voice and she frowned.

“I had some bread-”

“Sybille, don’t,” he said in a hard tone. “I meant when was the last time you fed on someone?”

She didn’t reply. Not because she didn’t know but she still was not comfortable admitting she was a vampire to anyone, not even the damn mage she made out with. She slowly got up making him give her a disappointed look.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not,” he said, getting up with her. “You are turning rapidly each day into a blood-starved vampire. Now, unless you feed, everyone in the castle will know and you will be hunted.”

She moved to sit down, irritated at his words. “How do you know that? There are vampire lords residing in courts all across Tamriel.”

“Sybille, don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You know the Count of Skingrad was eradicated once the Thalmor exposed him. That will happen to you as well!” She flushed at his words, her heart aching at the thought of a fellow sophisticated vampire being disposed. “You need to feed.”

“And how do you propose I do so?” she said. “The dungeons are dry right now!”

He frowned deeply, crossing his arms and she sat irritated in her chair. She leaned down to pick up her empty goblet, a good-sized stain now on her rug and he clucked his tongue after a moment.

“Feed on me.”

She looked at him, shocked.

“No.”

“Who else do you have?” he hissed and she set her lips thin. She could practically see the blood moving in his neck and her ache returned, her hunger insatiable but she had control of herself. “Feed on me, Sybille.”

“What, right now?” she said angrily. “Those guards are probably waiting outside, wondering what is going on. Elisif is on her Throne. The whole damn palace is awake!” she pointed out and he flushed. “So, yes, please, pull down your robes right now so I can get caught!”

“Alright, I get it!” he said, offended. “But you have to feed!”

“Well, no shit!” she said in an undignified tone and he sighed, crossing his arms tighter. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples and he finally spoke once more.

“What if I come during the night?” he said. “Around midnight? When the palace is asleep. Can you hold out until then?”

She pursed her lips, looking to him and he was staring at her with a flushed face. She wanted to drink the color from them.

“Fine,” she said, too tired to argue. “Do whatever.”

“Sybille,” he said in a serious tone. “You need this.”

She sighed. She needed something all right, but it wasn’t the Altmer. She needed to have her dungeons filled so she could be content. There were loads of Stormcloaks in Skyrim, ripe for the picking, and yet they were all too smart to keep coming there. Not that Nord blood was to her taste but damn, prisoner blood was the best when they were helplessly struggling against her.

Melaran moved to pick up his books, looking back at her but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Tonight,” he said and she sighed.

“Whatever.”

He left her be in her darkened room with her headache and wishes.

 

She actually didn’t expect him to show up since Erikur did keep a tight leash on the boy but at midnight there was a rapping on her door. She moved from her corner where she had been rocking back and forth from the pain and she let him in, her eyes changing when she smelled him. His blood was pulsing in him and she almost bit him right there but she stopped herself.

He flushed, pulling back his hood and she licked her lips. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Awful,” she said, staring at his neck. Even she could feel how blood-starved she was and she would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact she was trembling for him. He looked at her, almost intimidated, but he swallowed it down and looked to her room.

“Where do you want to do this?” he asked and she had to pull herself back to think.

“Go sit on the bed,” she said. “That will be the most comfortable.”

He nodded, doing as she told and he went to the side of her large poster bed, carefully sitting down. He reached up to loosen his robes, exposing himself to his collar making her shake and she watched him from her hall, her fingers itching. He flushed, trying to calm himself before he looked to her. She didn’t move.

“You… You can come feed,” he said awkwardly and she licked her lips.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked him. “This is not like a prick on the finger, Melaran. This is very intimate and draining.”

He sighed. “I’m sure.”

She still didn’t move from her spot, watching him shift, before she finally relented. Only because she was a moment away from going crazy and sucking him dry. She walked to face him, her eyes on his neck and she brushed her fingers over his skin to find the perfect spot to feed. His pulse fluttered and she nearly groaned at the feeling.

He flushed deeply, trying to be calm and she stroked his neck for a second, trying to help but her hunger was intense. After a moment of feeling the blood in him flow, she had to have him and she found herself crawling into his lap making him freeze.

“S-Sybille?” he said. “I thought you were going to go from behind? Like you do in the prison?”

She didn’t answer, her mind too focused on his veins and she pressed herself against him, inhaling his scent. He smelled like fresh meat and it made her shudder, her legs moving so she could comfortably sit on his lap and she felt him shift again in discomfort. She decided to take it slow so she didn’t overwhelm him and she leaned down to lick his neck. He tensed at the feeling.

“Relax,” she said, her eyes fluttering down as she said it. His skin was salty. She liked the taste.

“Alright…” he breathed out and she felt it against her chest before she licked again, cleaning the area where she intended to feed. He remained still but his breathing increased and he shifted several times under her making her brush up against him.

“Sit still,” she commanded and he did. “Now, look at the wall, Melaran. And think happy thoughts.”

“Uh-”

She let her teeth grow and she hungrily bit down on him making him stiffen and curl, a slight choke coming from his throat. She would have soothed him but his blood began flooding her mouth and she damn well drank in a mouthful, clutching him as she did. Gods above, his blood was a beautiful mix of sour and sweet with the hint of saltiness from his skin and she had to have more, thirsting for him. She gripped him tighter, sucking on his veins and he groaned in pain beneath her, his hands moving to grip her back.

She couldn’t stop, her control wavering and she was almost close to downright killing him when she finally broke away, gasping as she did. He let out a groan, immediately reaching to grab his neck and she flushed.

“S-Sorry,” she said, her hunger lessening slightly. She could feel that her lips were dripping and she licked them, tasting him on them. He let out a shaky sigh.

“It’s… alright,” he said in a pained voice. “Do you need more?”

She pursed her lips. Honestly, she did but looking at his expression, she wasn’t sure if she should. He noticed and he let out a sigh, pulling his hand back, the palm bloody. “It’s fine, Sybille. As long as you don’t kill me…”

“I won’t,” she said and he took a moment before he extended his neck. Blood was starting to flow from the puncture wounds and she looked at it, her hunger coming back. Her tongue touched the end of the long flowing drips of blood and she licked up, cleaning his punctured neck so it was gold again. She found her initial entry wounds again, putting her teeth back into place and she gently sucked, drawing his blood up again.

The taste made her shiver and she unintentionally bucked against him causing him to stiffen. She frowned, the restriction of blood making her growl and she reached to hug him, rubbing his back so he could relax and she could feed. She was nearly a head shorter than him but sitting in his lap made her feel like she was three and she awkwardly tried to soothe him as she sucked. His hand moved down, going over her backside which made her pause, and he knocked her thigh so she could sit properly.

She didn’t want that she found. She wanted something else. And when his hand left, she moved right back to her original position where she could feel his body against hers.

She rubbed and he stiffened once more. Yes, she could feel him. His cock was resting to the right and she shifted, moving her hips against him, sucking slowly as she did. He tensed again, his breath coming out from between clenched teeth.

“S-Sybille,” he said and she frowned, moving her hips. “Sybille, wait-!”

No, she wasn’t going to. She was feeding on his sweet blood and she could feel him start to bulge. It had been a while since she had eaten or had an orgasm and she might as well sate both her appetites that night. She ceased sucking his blood out, keeping her teeth in him but her focus went to her hips and how she was moving them. Her robes were making it messy and she reached down, hiking them up so she rubbed him with just her underwear separating her from his bulge. He groaned, gripping her back to try and stop her but he didn’t have his heart in it.

She was allowed to stimulate herself, her head feeling light as she did and she groaned, drawing some of his blood into her mouth again. He shifted, spreading his legs and she got better access to rub him. His large dick felt heavenly against her and she reached down to pull the strings from her underwear, wanting to feel him without her damn fabric in the way.

Her folds spread over his clothed cock perfectly, her wetness leaving a stain that made him pant and she let go of his neck so she could moan, moving to press against him closer. She rubbed her dripping body against him, riding the high only sex could give her and he struggled on keeping his moans down, his own body obviously aching.

“Pull your robes up,” she demanded against his ear and he panted. “Pull them up and tug your smalls down!”

“Sybille,” he groaned as he did as she said. He fumbled between them, his blue robes moving up more smoothly than hers and she pulled his loincloth off so she could grip his cock. He was big and she squeezed the length, almost unable to get her fist around it. He reached down, his fingers sliding over her and she bucked against him, nipping at his shoulder in affection.

“Gods, Melaran!” she breathed. “I-If you fucked me-!”

“Not today,” he said and she bit her lip, opening her eyes. “I… I don’t… I don’t want to go that far today.”

She frowned but understood. After all, she doubted he could do much since she had taken almost a pint of his blood. She instead let his cock fall back, the heavy thing moving to the side and she positioned herself so she rubbed on him directly. He shook, letting out a moan when she did and she gasped at the feeling of his hard cock against her clit.

She damn well had to ride him. After all, she would have been a fool not to. She coated the underside of his cock with her own wetness, sliding roughly against him as she clung to his body, panting against his neck. His one hand moved to help with her pace, pushing her rear in a steady rhythm against him while he held her tightly to his body with the other. She whimpered, finding her holes again to suck, drawing more blood from him and she wildly bucked as she drank his blood. The two sensations together made her head spin and she found herself on the edge faster than she realized.

She pulled back. “Melaran! I’m going to come on you!” she said against his ear like she was some dirty teenage girl back in High Rock. He shivered at her words, his hand helping move her backside faster and she gasped at the pressure on her clit. She needed it to be constant and enough to get her off making her spread her legs more. He understood and he didn’t stop, his own hips beginning to move to help and she came when the tip of his cock rubbed hard against her clit.

“Lady Mara!” she shouted by accident, twisting in his grip as she was flooded with sensations and she rode it, not caring as she did. She wanted to keep feeling it, his cock against her, her body becoming warm and she almost pushed him inside of her but she restrained. He let out a shaking sigh and caught her as she collapsed, both arms cuddling her body.

She groaned, clinging to him. By all that was holy… at some point, she was going to get his cock. She chuckled to herself at her thought, curling slightly making him shift and he rubbed her back.

“Do you feel better?” he asked and she let out a content sigh.

“I do,” she said, her dignified voice coming back. “Thank you, Melaran. You really are a treasure.”

He shifted a bit at her words and she could tell he was flushing by the increase in his heartbeat. He rubbed her back, fluffing her hair every so often, before she tired of it and leaned up. His neck was beginning to bruise making her frown and it was smeared with blood from her feeding.

“Let me get you a cloth,” she said, sliding off him to get one and her eyes went down to his cock. His bunched up robes were stained and she smiled, letting hers fall down but she didn’t throw her underwear on. Not yet, anyway. She found a clean rag and she dipped it into her hand basin, wringing it out before she came back to him to clean his neck. He sat quietly, a light red blush on his cheeks and when she was done she reached down to do his cock.

“Sybille-” he said, stiffening when she touched his softening member but she ignored him, cleaning him anyways. His foreskin pulled up and she pulled it back making him shake as she made sure she got everything before she let him be. Her eyes went to the windows and she tried to judge how much time had passed.

“It’s nearing twelve thirty,” she said and he frowned. “You should probably get back before Erikur figures out you left.”

“…Yeah,” he said, sighing, and he slowly stood, grabbing his loincloth to tug on as he did. She watched him, how he was slightly pale from her feeding but mostly he seemed embarrassed. She grabbed his arm before he moved to leave.

“Melaran,” she said and he looked to her. “I want to see you again.”

He frowned. “Did you not feed enough?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, not that,” she said. “I’m fine now. I don’t even feel hungry. I meant see you for more sexual matters.” He went red. “I want us to have a more intimate relationship.”

He turned to her. “…R… Really?”

“No, I’m just saying that to be sarcastic,” she said sarcastically. “Yes, really. I want you more intimately.”

He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, her proposal making him stutter. “I-I… I can’t leave Erikur all the time, though. But, once in a while. If… If you want to become intimate, we can try.” He admitted and she had to smile. “I don’t know if I’ll fit you, though.”

“I’m more flexible than you know, Melaran,” she said making his ears even go red. “I’m not over a hundred and some because I think books are neat and enchanting is fun.”

“R-Right.”

“Go home,” she finally said, pushing him gently. “Go get some rest. Build up your blood.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“And Melaran?” she said as he turned to leave making him pause. She let out a slow sigh. “Thank you. For… both things tonight.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sybille.”

“You will,” she said and he left her, her door shutting so quietly behind him she barely heard it. She let out a long sigh, moving to lay on her bed and she thought about his cock against her, his blood moving in her veins. She was going to have to start stretching in order to take him. She had only ever had Bretons before, never an Altmer, and his size was something she was going to have to learn to accommodate.

She reached under her bed, pulling out a few of her naughtiest books and she opened up her one filthy novel written by a woman who rode the high seas of Cyrodiil. She was at the part where three of the sailors had asked her to mop the deck before them naked, the woman only pretending to protest so that they wouldn’t think she was an easy harlot. Sybille had to smile, flipping the page and she recalled right that one of them was an Altmer.

She read the passages quickly, skimming until she got to the part on how thick the Altmer’s cock was and she found her breath hitching. The description alone made her think of Melaran and she pressed the book against her face, leaning back.

Gods, instead of blood now all she was going to think about was his hefty cock. It was a swap she could do with, however, as her blood and thirst was settled. She could finally return to doing her job and she doused her candle at the thought, her books being hidden once again. 

Tomorrow, she would attend the court with a fresh face and not alert Falk or the rest of them to her condition which would be a disaster. She was still going to need some damn prisoners in her dungeons but with a clear head she could scheme on how to get them. Maybe one of the patrols could go out bandit-scouting again.

She closed her eyes, succumbing to her usual restful sleep that accompanied her when she fed.

When she woke, she found herself late for the early morning court and she joined them silently, slipping behind Bryling.

Her presence didn’t go undetected by Erikur who damn well had to say something. “Well, look who is finally up. Never thought we’d see you again, Sybille. I thought you had died in there.”

She pressed her lips thin but she still gave a polite smile. Damn, did she want to slap that man’s face right off with her hands.

“Sybille,” Elisif said in her usual bright tone. “Are you feeling better? You can still take another day if you need.”

“I’m fine, my Queen,” she said making Elisif blush. “As I had suspected, I had some off wine which put me down. A day and night resting made it better.”

“Resting?” Falk said from beside her making her look. “I heard you talking to someone last night in your room.”

If she was alive, she would have went red.

“Who were you chatting to?” he inquired, suspicious. “And why were you yelling at one point?”

She said nothing, her eyes meeting his and she was about to say something when Bryling spoke.

“Leave her alone, Falk,” she said making them all pause. “You act as if having discussions now is a crime.”

He turned on her. “It is a crime if it is against our people and queen! And in the middle of the night!” he looked back to Sybille who said nothing. “Who was in your room?”

She stared at him, hard, her intimidation no longer as strong now that she had fed. She thought about lying and telling him a guard needed to speak to her when she decided that she had no secrets.

“I was with someone,” she said boldly. “The yelling you heard was me having an orgasm with the man I am currently seeing.” Falk’s face went white and Elisif’s usual cheerful expression when to confused before she began to badly flush, dropping her notes. “So, unless having a late-night session with your lover who you don’t often see if against the law, we have nothing further to discuss.”

She heard Erikur snicker from behind her but she ignored it, turning back to her Queen who looked like she had just been read a passage from the Lusty Argonian Maid.

“What matters is that I am well now, and quite sated, and can get back to my duties as serving you my Queen,” she said in a cool tone. Elisif flushed. “Now, can we get back to work? There are Stormcloaks and real assassins out there that need to be dealt with and we need plans. Unless you all really are that curious about my personal life.”

“N-No,” Falk said, deeply embarrassed and she smiled, folding her arms.

“Then let us get to work,” she said. “Starting with bandit scouting. I hear they are becoming a problem up the eastern road.”

\--


	29. Scary Phone Calls and Nice Lights (Ancano/Mirabelle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: I really liked the modern AU fills I read and really wanted to read more on what our darling NPCs are like when they aren't working or are in casual clothes. I want someone dropping by their home to find hem in their casual wear or maybe when they're out an about.

It was seven fifteen at night when her cell phone began ringing, the little rectangle vibrating wildly on her coffee table while a cute chime played. She paused eating her salad, setting down her magazine as she did and she went to pick it up, frowning at the number.

“Mirabelle Ervine,” she answered, crossing her arm under her chest as she did.

“Mirabelle! Praise Mephala!” Savos’ voice came into her ear. She sighed, waiting for his panic attack to start. “You need to help me! This is the utmost importance!”

“What is it, Savos?” she said, looking out her apartment balcony to the dark Winterhold skyline. Snow was beginning to fall again and she frowned, hoping he wasn’t stuck in a ditch again.

“I’ve lost my glasses!” he said into the phone, loud noises of papers being moved echoing in the background. “I cannot drive without my glasses! Oh, I’ve checked my desk, I’ve checked yours-!”

She reached up to rub her eyes with her free hand. “Savos?”

“-This is important, Mirabelle!”

“Savos!” she said in a louder tone and the rustling she heard paused. “Reach up and touch your head.”

There was a silence but she knew he had done so. And he had found his glasses. He was getting as bad as Tolfidr.

“…Yes, well, thank you Mirabelle,” he said, embarrassed. “I owe you one.”

“Of course, Savos,” she said, looking back to her meal. “I’ll see you on Morndas.”

“Morndas it is,” he said and he hung up. She clicked her phone off, setting it back on the table and she grabbed her salad, picking through it for the nuts before she walked to her balcony, watching the snow fall down. She opened the door, peeking her head out to check the temperature and the hand dipping below zero made her shudder, the door being closed immediately.

She went back to her kitchen where only one light shone down on her dining room table and she took her seat again, picking up her magazine. Popular Mechanics had another article on the land of Blackreach and she folded the page over, reading intently. 

It was just another typical Fredas for her. While all the college students were out at the bars causing trouble or stressing about their tests on Morndas, she was in her dark apartment enjoying the last of her leftover salad she made for the week. She had picked up her mail, throwing out the junk, and was spending her free time catching up on her reading, something she seldom got to do.

There was always paperwork to be done or tests to be corrected for Colette or money problems to be pressured on her. But that Fredas, she was free of it and she leaned back in her chair, pulling her magazine towards her to read, a smile playing on her lips. How she missed having time to herself.

When she did have time to herself, back before she became appointed Vice-Dean of the College of Winterhold, she used to read three books a week. She went through half the college library, absorbing all matters of magic, science, religion, mathematics, history, and classical reading. She used to be able to quote from Shalidor’s Insights without even needing to reference the text but now, she had to rent a copy to remember a simple line.

The thought made her rub her temples. Oh, how she missed those times. She was about to go back to reading on Blackreach when her phone rang again making her pause. If this was Savos and he was in the ditch, he could phone Tolfdir to damn well pry his car out.

She answered it with a cool tone. “Mirabelle Ervine.”

“Let me in,” a dark voice said and she paused, frowning.

“Excuse me?” she said. “Who is this?”

“Mirabelle,” her name was said and she paused.

Oh no.

She shook for a moment, looking down at her phone and she stared at the name. Of course. She should have damn well paid more attention. Though she did have the option to refuse him, her thumb pressed over the three digit code to unlock the apartment outside door and the phone went dead.

She stared at it, flushing. Dear gods, what was she doing?

His knocking came faster than she anticipated and she dropped her phone on her table, moving to unlock the deadbolt but she didn’t open the door fully. She only cracked it open, looking outside and her eyes met with dark golden ones.

She flushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said in an irritated tone. “Are you going to let me in?”

She hesitated. Normally she wouldn’t. In fact, no one had ever seen her apartment save for Tolfdir and that was only because he was picking her up. But she didn’t have a choice as he pushed his way in and she stumbled to the side.

“Ancano!”

He slipped off his shoes making her burn before he turned towards her. She found herself almost becoming flustered. He must have come from the government office because he was in what looked to be a very expensive suit and tie. He nodded to the door and she glanced at it before closing it, her ears red as she did.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “How do you even know where I live?”

He raised a brow at her before he turned, walking down the hall of her apartment.

“I came to see you. Is that a problem?”

“Why?” she said, following him and he stepped into her living room, looking it over. He went to her bookshelf, studying the titles and she flushed, noticing her dinner was still out and she went to pack it up. She dropped her magazine - which she didn’t get to read again - on the pile by her old television and she crossed her arms as she watched him.

He touched one of her books, pulling it back slightly to read the title before letting it fall into its place.

“Ancano,” she said in a stern voice. “Why are you here?”

He faced her, his eyes running over her body and he raised a brow.

“You wear very odd clothes.”

She looked down at herself, at her grey yoga pants and large knitted sweater. These were her damn casual clothes and she crossed her arms over her chest tight, glaring at him.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. He continued to look her over before he moved to check out her balcony.

“I was in the area,” he said. “And I thought I’d drop by.”

“Why?” she said again. “And how did you find out where I live?”

“Really, Mirabelle?” he said, annoyed. “You think I’ve never seen your mail on your desk? One of your magazines has your postal address.”

She turned pink.

“As to why I am here,” he moved towards her, making her move back until her calves hit her couch. He stood over her, his form tall and imposing and he looked her over before he licked his lips. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

She pressed her lips thin. “Because we almost got caught last time.”

“You shouldn’t have been so loud.”

“Me?” she snapped. “I wasn’t the one groaning about getting close!”

He snorted, moving closer to her making her nearly lose her balance. “You were practically screaming my name.”

“I was not,” she fumed and he leaned down further, nearly touching her making her pause.

“Yes, you were,” he said, his breath tickling hers and she found herself shivering when he grabbed her and pushed her down. Her back hit the couch and he was on her making her squirm.

“Ancano!” she snapped, trying to get up but he wouldn’t let her. He made her lay quiet, his eyes running over her body and she flushed. “You’re such a prick.”

“As if you don’t love it,” he said and she rolled her eyes.

“Trust me, it stops being cute after a while.”

“Please,” he said as his hands began to roam over her body making her shift a bit. “Your lies aren’t needed.”

She tried to get up to snap at him but he pushed her down again, hooking his fingers on the bottom of her sweater, pulling up making her flush. He frowned at the shirt underneath, the sight two monster trucks hitting each other a shock and she turned red.

“I-It was my old boyfriend’s,” she said and he looked at her.

“Did you date a redneck Nord?” he said and she turned pink. He stared at her. “Dear gods, you did.”

“I was sixteen!” she spat and he raised a brow, his eyes moving back down.

“Sixteen? And you still fit this?” his fingers reached up to trace down the curve of her breasts making her shiver. “My, you must have filled out early.”

She found herself turning pink and she tried to pull her sweater down to cover herself but he wouldn’t let her. He instead pulled her shirt up, taking his time as he did, until he revealed the underwire of her bra. Swiftly he yanked her top and sweater off making her yelp in shock as she got a faceful of wool and hair and he dropped the tangled clothes beside her couch, his eyes on her chest.

She didn’t cover herself. After all, what was the point of modesty now? She laid back, her eyes on him and he licked his lips which made her toes curl. He reached down, sliding his finger under her bra and he lifted it up slightly.

“A nude bra,” he said. “How very you.”

She licked her drying lips. “I’m a Vice Dean, Ancano.”

“So?” he said. “I was actually expecting something a lot… kinkier from you. Like a black bra and underwear.”

She raised a brow, smirking a bit. “I’m sorry to destroy your thoughts that I’m some dominatrix living under the facade as a Vice-Dean,” she said. “But I own no such combination of clothes.”

He gave her a look which made her skin prickle, a shudder running down her body. Gods, his eyes. How they always made her melt.

“You’re not the dominatrix type, Mirabelle Ervine,” he said, letting go of her bra to trail his hands down her stomach and she tensed as he did. “You’re more the submissive. The girl who wants her husband to fuck her hard on their martial bed while she’s wearing handcuffs.”

She stared at him, his words affecting her and she shifted. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, moving to grab the top of her yoga pants. “I’m sure if I rubbed myself off on you while you wore these, you would orgasm just from the motion.”

Now he was really starting to affect her and she shifted on her couch. “Ancano…” she said and he began pulling the top of her pants down, exposing more skin. She should have stopped him but gods, her logic always seemed to disappear when he was around and she let him expose her more, her heart racing as he did.

He seemed surprised by her underwear before he smirked. “Red, lacy string panties? My, Mirabelle. Maybe I misjudged you.”

“You always do,” she said, reaching behind her back to unclip her bra with one simple twist of her hand. “I may not be your little dominatrix fantasy, but I sure am not your submissive wife one either.”

“Then what are you?” he said, pulling her pants clean off her body before he began to crawl on top of her, the couch shifting with his weight. She moved, grabbing his tie, pulling him closer.

“I’m the woman who gives you the best sex you ever had,” she said. “And don’t you forget it.”

He was on her before she could comprehend it, his hands running over her bare skin making her gasp. Her bra was thrown off and he hauled her up, taking control of her mouth as she threw her arms around his neck. She had to have him, had to damn well wipe his cocky smile from his face and she groaned when he ground his hips against hers. He was hard and she damn well wanted it.

“Fuck me,” she panted against his mouth, digging her nails into his skull. He roughly kissed her, pressing her hips against his hard.

“That’s rather submissive, Miss Ervine,” he mocked making her glare at him. “Perhaps you are more the vanilla housewife, eager to please her husband.”

“I’ll kill you,” she hissed and he grinned.

“That’s more like it.”

She kissed him roughly, pulling on his bottom lip and he picked her up, moving her to her dining table before he slammed her back on it making her yell. He pulled back, spreading her legs and she leaned up to grab him but she was tugged forward so her hips were nearly off the edge making her stop.

“Ancano!”

He went down on his knees, his head between her legs and she gasped as his tongue his her panties. He licked tantalizingly slow and she couldn’t help but moan. Damn, she both hated and loved that man. He started pleasing her, licking in fast motions causing her panties to cling to her folds before he reached up and ripped them down her thighs. He pulled them off, getting up to stand over her and he showed them to her making her turn red.

“Look how much you’ve come against them already,” he said, dropping the panties on her chest. “A few licks and you’re drenched.”

“Maybe I was turned on before you came.”

“Not likely,” he smirked and she grabbed her bunched up underwear, throwing it at him but he dodged it and he went back down. His tongue pressed against her clit making her tense, whimpering at the hot sensation and he started sucking it.

Her toes curled and she fell back, grabbing the edge of her table above her head. “A-Ancano!”

He flicked his tongue against her before he sucked again. She spread her legs, wanting more, but it didn’t add to the friction and she whined. He teased her clit, his fingers moving to push into her body as he did and she rode them, her hips pressing against his face. She closed her eyes, one of her legs slinging over his shoulder and she began whimpering his name over and over.

Gods, she was never going to live this down after but at the moment, she didn’t care. She wanted him, wanted him so bad she ached and she grabbed her breasts, squeezing them as he moved to thrusting into her with his tongue. His wet fingers slid up, working her clit, and when she was about to come, her back arching, he pulled away making her shoot up in frustration.

“Ancano!”

He pulled at his belt. “Turn around,” he ordered and she flushed. “Turn your ass around, Mirabelle. I want you hanging over this table as I fuck you.”

She did as he said, her thighs shaking and he wasted no time in pressing his fingers into her, fingering her to get her even more excited. She grabbed the edge of her table again, leaning back against him and when his hand disappeared she let out a whine. It was soon replaced with the head of his cock and she panted.

She shouldn’t be this needy for a government bastard like himself. And the thought reminded her of the most important thing.

“Condom!” she said making him pause. “P-Put on a condom, Ancano.”

He grumbled but pulled out his wallet. “This isn’t a safe day?”

“No,” she said, her head light. He ripped the small packet open, tossing the garbage on the floor and she felt the latex head against her. This was for the better, even if he didn’t like it.

“Raise your leg up,” he said, grabbing her calf and he put it up on the table making her spread wide. “Keep it like that.”

“Why?” she said, looking over her shoulder and he began pressing into her making her whimper at the stretching feeling.

“So I can watch my cock get swallowed up by your cunt,” he said in a hard tone and she shivered at it. Gods, that language would normally bother her but in the heat of the moment, it made her feel like she got even wetter. She groaned as he pushed in, his cock sliding in easy until she felt him getting close to the point where she was going to be uncomfortable.

“S-Stop,” she said, gripping her table hard. “Y-You’re in as far as you can go.”

He grabbed her ass, spreading it making her tense and he pressed his thumb against her other hole. She looked back at him and he looked to her before he pulled his hips back. Then he thrust. And her toes damn well curled.

“A-Ancano!” she cried, tensing around him and he slipped his thumb into her back entrance, his other hand moving to grab the flesh on her side. He pulled her hips back, making her take him in and she panted as he began to fuck her. Gods, this was incredibly dirty and she felt like such a - dare she say? - whore for letting him do as he wanted to her.

But at the same time, it felt so damn good and she eagerly met his thrusts back, her table shaking as she did. She felt herself leaking, the sounds of their thrusts sloppy and wet, and she clenched around him when she could, pressing her chest against her table. She’d have to wash it. She’d have to wash the entire damn area after but for the moment, she was in bliss being fucked in her kitchen by the one man who made her crazy.

He reached under her, his fingers finding her clit and when he put a bit of pressure against it she went wild, her legs falling off the table as she kicked out.

“Yes!” she begged mindlessly. He slapped her backside making her clench before he grabbed her middle, pulling her halfway off but she could touch the floor. He squeezed her breasts making her arch her back.

“You are an incredibly submissive bitch, Mirabelle,” he growled in her ear. “Face it, that’s what you are. And if you were my little whore of a wife, every day you’d be waiting for me with soaked panties, wouldn’t you?”

Gods damn him, he was making her nearly orgasm from his words alone.

“W-Wrong,” she panted and he let go of her one breast to shove his hand between her legs, petting her clit in light, teasing strokes. She nearly went mad. “A-Ancano!”

“You know what I really want to do to you?” he hissed, biting at her ear. “I want to fuck you on your desk at work while you wear your haughty little Dean clothes. I want everyone to hear you scream my name while I come inside your tight little Breton cunt. And then, because I’m such a nice guy, you can clean my cock after.” She shook at his words. 

“Then everyone would know that even though you play the calm and collected administrative role well, your true colors are that you are a submissive little slut who only wants my dick in her sopping pussy.”

“J-Julianos!” she trembled, her desire heightening and she could feel herself getting close.

“Admit it, Mirabelle,” he licked her ear making her cry out. “You would rather spend your day getting constantly fucked by me!”

“Gods!” she cried, grabbing onto the table as he worked her hard.

“Say it, Mirabelle!” he ordered and she could barely think.

“I-I want you!” she said.

“Not good enough,” he teased, his hand moving away from her clit making her thrash a bit. The friction of him fucking her wasn’t enough since she was practically drenched and she squirmed, trying to making him go back but he wouldn’t. He caught her wrist before she could get herself off. “Come on, Mirabelle!”

She panted and he thrust in deep, making her arch her back.

“I-I want your cock!” she said, her mind beginning to go. “I want your cock! I want your cock! I want your cock!”

“When?” he snapped.

“All the time!”

His hand went between her legs and stars burst in her eyes and she thrashed. He grabbed her, holding her against him but she continued to buck, riding her high. She clenched around his enormous cock, groaning loudly as she did and he finished inside her, pulling out after he did. She collapsed beside her table, her legs trembling hard making it impossible for her to move and he fell into a chair near her, his slicked back hair starting to fall into his eyes.

They panted hard, both coming down from their moment of euphoria and as she did, she suddenly became very self-aware. She looked to him, to the filled condom on his cock and she crossed an arm over her chest, the sweat on her skin cooling.

Gods, what in oblivion were they doing? What was she doing?

She looked at him, to his eyes and he didn’t move. She had a damn problem.

“A-Ancano?”

“Hn?”

“Can you get my sweater?” she asked without looking at him and he frowned but after a minute he stood. The condom was dropped on her dining table counter and he went into the living room, fetching her clothes. He dropped them beside her and she took them, pulling her shirt and sweater on and she was thankful it went past her hips.

He looked to her as she slowly stood and she sighed, her body throbbing. She could feel how sore and puffy she was and she slowly went to her kitchen, fetching a vitamin water from the fridge. She was becoming flushed from how humiliated she was at what they did and she pressed the water against her cheek for a moment. Gods, what was wrong with her? She drank half of it in one go and he scoffed from behind her.

“Are you going to offer me anything?”

She looked over her shoulder at him before her eyes slid to her hallway.

“Yes,” she said. “There’s the door.”

He raised a brow. “You want me out? After that?”

She pulled her sweater down, drinking a few more sips of her water before she went back to face him, straightening the chairs around her dining room table. He looked at her with a condescending expression. She pursed her lips.

“You want to stay?”

“I never said that,” he said. “I’m thirsty. It’s rather rude of you to drink right in front of me.”

She looked to the condom on her table and flicked it towards him.

“Drink that.”

He raised a brow. “Now you’re being a bitch.”

She flushed. “Ancano, you came into my apartment uninvited, mocked me, undressed me, and then fucked me while calling me a slut,” she said. “And I’m being a bitch for refusing you water?”

He stood and pinned her against her table, his frame intimidating.

“You seemed very eager at me calling you as such.”

She furrowed her brows at him. “You were working my clit.”

“I don’t think that’s what got you so wet,” he said, his eyes dark. “Admit it, Mirabelle. You like being submissive.”

“I do not,” she said in a low tone.

“You do,” he said. “In fact, I think that is what gets you the most worked up when he fuck. You like being teased and hearing the things I would do to you. It’s not because I was fingering you. It’s because I called you a slut when I did.”

She shoved him away from her. “Get out of my apartment, Ancano.”

He stepped back towards her. “Make me.”

“I will phone the police!” she warned and he scoffed, his leg moving to press between hers making her pause and he leaned over her, his mouth inches from hers making her stop.

“One night, Mirabelle Ervine,” he said in a dark tone that made her quiver. “I am going to come over here and work you hard. Until you will not be able to breathe without me. Because secretly, that’s what you want.” He moved his hand under her sweater and she grabbed at his wrist but he pushed his fingers against her making her pulse. “You don’t want to be Dean. You want to under me and have my fucking cock in your cunt every day.”

“Leave, Ancano,” she breathed hard. “Before I lose my temper.”

He pressed his fingers against her, brushing over her clit making her jerk before he withdrew, setting himself proper as he went to the door. She shivered as she watched him, moving only to make sure he left and he slipped on his shoes, opening the door to leave when he paused, looking back to her.

She flushed red and he ran his eyes down her body before he finally left, the door clicking behind him. She went, putting the chain on and locking the deadbolt before she hugged her arms, her breathing ragged as she did.

She needed to stop this. She needed to stop damn well seeing him but his words made her throb and several minutes later she had to go to her room, digging deep in her sweater drawer until she found what she wanted. She pulled out her old toy and she threw in the pair of batteries, the thing vibrating to life.

It was embarrassing but she had to pleasure herself and she came again at the thought of him hissing horribly depraved things into her ear, his name escaping her lips as she did. She let the toy drop, her body flushed and she threw an arm over her eyes after she did, shaking her head. She had to bloody well stop.

But deep inside of her was that voice. That voice that was tugging at her mind. She wanted what Ancano said. She wanted his thick cock pounding her every day. She just didn’t have the guts to admit it. Even though his cock was heaven to her body.


	30. Snippets from Skyrim (Various)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some unprompted work I did. Well, shouldn't say that. The prompts came from the tumblr alltheprompts. But considering I never posted these anywhere... eh.

**What are we being tested on?**

 

“What are we being tested on?” Brelyna finally asked as she held up a broken urn, ash seeping out of the top. “This feels more like us picking up garbage than learning!”

“My dear,” Tolfdir began before the sounds of a large urn falling and shattering drew his attention away and to the poor mage behind him who was still as a board. “Onmund! Please be careful! These items are very fragile!”

“It wasn’t me!” he tried to say but Tolfdir merely continued to scold him while J’zargo watched from above, his tail twitching curiously.

 

**You look lovely.**

 

She was standing by the pillar nearest to the door, her eyes weary as she watched the crowd. Her wine, though superb, wasn’t enticing her at the moment and she could only think about getting back to the Blue Palace when a figure slid up behind her.

She turned sharply, taken off guard but when she saw who it was her cheeks flushed and she relaxed. She looked back out at the crowd.

“Rulindil,” she said quietly and the Third Emissary folded his arms behind his back. “You scared me.”

“Apologies,” he said in a soft voice before he leaned over slightly, his breath tickling her ear. “You look lovely.”

She took a drink to mask the flush creeping over her cheeks.

 

**Is this what you’d like?**

 

“Karliah,” Brynjolf called making her turn, the box she was holding beginning to become uncomfortable. “Is this what you’d like?”

He held up her banner she made for Nocturnal to the wall and she pursed her lips.

“A little higher, Brynjolf.”

He frowned and held it up higher.

“A little higher.”

“Lass, I’m about to fall to my death,” he said in a slightly joking tone. “Just tell me where you want it.”

She finally set down her box and came to him, standing by the ladder he was on. She took a moment, carefully judging before she crossed her arms.

“It’s fine where you have it.”

“Thank Talos,” he said and when she blinked at him he frowned before realizing. “I mean, thank Nocturnal.”

She smiled.

 

**Please, agree with me.**

 

He furrowed his brows more, turning on her as he cracked open another bottle of Black-Briar mead. “Why should I?”

“Siddgeir,” she said again, her blood pressure rising. “I am not going to detail what your responsibilities are again as Jarl. Please, just sign the decree.”

“No,” he said again, taking a drink. “I don’t like it so I’m not signing shit.”

She shook, her vision nearly seeing red but she used all of her strength to calm herself. “Siddgeir, this is critical-”

“Bullshit.”

“Please, will you just agree with me! For once!” she spat and he stopped, looking at her rather shocked at her outburst. She felt herself shake.

“Stendarr’s dick, Nenya. You don’t have to flip out.”

She could have strangled him.

 

**You are so rude.**

 

“Honestly, Ancano, you are so rude,” Mirabelle said as she walked across the courtyard. The Thalmor Agent behind her merely snorted, his cloak blowing as the northern wind came rushing in once again sending a flurry of snowflakes everywhere.

“I don’t have to explain myself to an Orc.”

“No, but you have to explain yourself to me,” she said, moving to the Hall of Attainment. “Can’t you just be civil for once?”

“What do you think?” he growled and she looked back at him over her shoulder. He was staring at her, his eyes moving down and she found herself flushing.

“Do you think about anything but my ass, Ancano?”

“Yes,” he replied in a cool tone as they reached the door. “I often wonder how everyone would react if they knew how much you love riding my cock.”

“Don’t be gross,” she snapped but her cheeks went a bright red. She didn’t have anything witty to say back.

 

**People don’t disappear like that!**

 

“Get the Dark Brotherhood, Maul,” Maven said, absolutely furious. Maul watched her as she paced around the room, the note in her hand crumpled. “I want them here! Tomorrow!”

“Maven…” he tried to reason but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“I will not be made a fool!” she snapped. “I know he’s still in Skyrim! The bloody bastard!”

He sighed, despite knowing the situation. He tried one more time. “He could have left on-”

She stopped and turned on him, her eyes near wild. “People don’t disappear like that, Maul. Mercer doesn’t disappear like that. This was intentional and a slap to my face. I want him found and hanged.”

“…Yes, Maven.”

 

**He couldn’t help himself.**

 

He couldn’t help himself. Despite her being and adult and able to care for her own well-being, he still worried for her and he followed her as soon as she left. She took the scroll with her, her dress being replaced with one that she could travel with and he followed her out, casting invisibility on himself when she got suspicious.

He followed her all the way into the Rift where he started to get worried. She kept going, aiming for the border and he wondered if she was going to flee into Morrowind when she cut into a cave. He went after her and his worst nightmare was confirmed. She was going to the Dawnguard.

“Serana, no,” Vingalmo whispered under his breath but he let her continue on as he had to turn back.

 

**What do I say to him?**

 

“What do I say to him?” she asked Suvaris who paused eating her meal. “I mean, he’s nice but…”

“Just let him down gently,” Suvaris said, picking at her bread. “Say you enjoy his company but not romantically. If he doesn’t get the hint, then tell him right out you’re not interested.”

Niranye frowned and leaned on her arm, contemplating it. Quintus was cute but could she really break his heart? She looked to Suvaris who had resumed eating.

“How did you let down someone?”

“Hm?”

“Men you liked,” she clarified. “How did you let them down?”

She snorted a bit. “I told them to fuck off before I took their balls.”

 

**What did that teach you?**

 

“So,” Elenwen said as she stood above her Agent, his body still not moving from where it fell. “What did that teach you?”

He said nothing for some time before he slowly rolled onto his side.

“Elenwen?”

“Ondolemar.”

“Please,” he said quietly. “Shut up.”

She glared at him as he rolled back to laying face-down in the snow, the stallion he had been on running near them again and she clucked her tongue.

“It’s like you want me to kill you.”

He didn’t respond.

 

**He is a murderer.**

 

Fasendil drank deep from his tankard, the roar around him near-deafening and his back was slapped by one of the other Legates. He couldn’t see as the Nord had moved on, shouting and he sighed, trying to be cheerful but his mind was heavy.

Thankfully, Rikke came to his side and she sat down next to him, her mug recently filled. “Fasendil… not very usual to see you all alone.”

“I have a headache,” he said and she gave him a sympathetic smile. She began to drink, both doing so in silence before he had to say something. “Rikke? Was it smart to…”

“Hm?”

“The dragonborn,” he said outright. “To let him out to fight for us.”

“Well, we won back most of the province,” she said in a careful tone and his cheek twitched.

“He is a murderer.”

She pursed her lips tight and didn’t say anything but he knew. She had the same thoughts as him.


	31. Somewhere Here (Serana & Vingalmo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: Simple as it says. Your OTP caught in the rain. Whether or not it leads to smut is up to author but would love a lot of tooth-aching fluff.
> 
> I ship it.

When he found her she was outside standing quietly with the rain hitting her face, her clothes absolutely soaked and clinging to her body. He frowned, squinting at the light before he moved, holding his black cloak up to shield himself.

“Serana,” he said quietly but she didn’t move. She continued to stand, motionless, with the rain running down her pale skin. “Serana, you’re not safe out here. Please. Come inside the castle.”

She did nothing. She didn’t speak or move, she merely continued to stand and when he was about ready to go and pull her from her spot her eyes slowly opened and she looked to the heavens, breathing out leaving a trail of mist in the air.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen rain,” she said quietly making him frown. “I forgot what it was like.”

He hesitated. “Serana, I know you can’t die from being exposed to it but you really should come inside before something terrible happens to you.”

Slowly she turned, her black hair sticking to her skin, her golden eyes meeting his and for a moment he forgot himself. He hadn’t seen her in so long that he always forgot how incredibly beautiful she was and with her skin and hair drenched and sticking to her and her lips slightly parted as she breathed he found himself nearly blushing.

Her words after, however, snapped him back. “Something terrible happens to me? Sounds like you’re all plotting against me already.”

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean it in a… well, a caring way. Like you could get injured out here since it is daylight from something as simple as slipping on the stones.”

She snorted, looking away. “So what?”

He stepped towards her. “Serana… We all care about you. It would make your father grieve-”

“Oh, cut the act, Vingalmo!” she snapped making him pause, shocked. “My father wouldn’t care! He cares about the Elder Scroll and now he has it! I’m just here until he’s finished using me, you all know it!”

He frowned at her, at how angry she had become, how her teeth bared for a second and his cheek twitched. He finally lowered his cloak, leaning forward to touch her and she flinched at the contact.

“That isn’t true.”

“No? Then why don’t we go ask him about how much concern he would have if I slipped.”

“Serana,” he tried again but she pulled away, stepping towards the shoreline, her arms crossing.

“Stop, Vingalmo. Just… please. Stop,” she said, her head hanging down. “Just… leave me be.”

He watched her, silent, wanting to obey but he honestly didn’t want to leave her. They hadn’t seen her such a long time and he didn’t feel right about leaving her alone again. He worried about that stranger she had brought who refused the gift of the blood and was banished. Would they come back and harm her? Would she vanish again and not be heard of until she was broken out of another crypt? He went towards her making her turn, her eyes angry but he held up his cloak, shielding her from the light despite it being hidden by clouds. 

“Serana… I would care.” She began to frown and he sighed. “I would care if you got hurt.”

“That isn’t going to make me come back inside.”

He nearly reached up and rubbed his temples in irritation but he restrained himself and calmed down. “I don’t… You don’t have to. Alright? You can stay outside but I’m not going to leave you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been alone enough,” he said making her open her eyes slightly in shock and she looked to him, almost taken aback at his empathy. He had to say something to fix it. “Look, I... I just worry. I’m worried, alright? I’m worried about you being out here just standing in the rain. What if that vampire hunter came back? What if we lost you permanently?”

She shifted in discomfort. “Would that be so bad? You all have already lived without me for a good long time.”

He moved to standing in front of her, rather annoyed by her response. “Yes, it would be bad! We don’t want to lose you!”

“Who is this ‘we’?” she snapped. “Because I only see you out here in concern!”

He found himself nearly stammering. “Then I don’t want to lose you! Isn’t that enough? I care, Serana! I bloody well care!”

A silent tension fell between them and her eyes were locked on his, the rain running down her cheeks, dripping onto her cape and dress. He found himself panting a bit, his breath hanging in the air and finally she moved. She reached up, touching his cheek which made him stiffen and she studied him for a moment.

Her hands were shaking a bit and he let his cloak fall down as he reach up and touched them, holding them still to soothe her.

“I care,” he repeated. She bit her lip, her eyes still locked with his and he found himself doing the unthinkable.

He leaned down, watching her the entire time as he did, before he brushed his lips slightly against hers.

She shivered, unsure of what to do before she acted and she pulled him closer, catching his mouth with her own. Her teeth scraped his bottom lip and he could practically feel how starved she was. She was hungry, wanting him, her hands gripping his arms and he reached down and hauled her up, his hood falling back a bit as he held her slightly higher than himself. She clung to him, kissing him hard as the rain now hit his face and he let her. He wanted it as much as she did, he just didn’t know it until he had her.

She needed the control and he didn’t mind giving it up to her. He never had any real strong feelings for the girl but seeing and hearing her act like she was better off being slain brought out something in him. A need for protection; or maybe just a need for some reassurance. The castle wasn’t exactly ripe with vampires wanting to be your friend and having someone actually care did made a difference. And he wanted her to know he was at least the one who truly did care.

She nipped at his tongue, her nails dragging down his neck and he winced, withdrawing instead to let their foreheads touch, the rain soaking them both.

“Serana…”

She didn’t meet his eyes, her fingers holding his shoulders tight and she let out a small breath. “Please. Don’t speak and ruin the moment.”

He had something witty to say back but he let it die in his throat and merely held her instead, feeling the weight of her body and her clothes against him. She kissed him a few more times, once restraining herself when she got too intimate and she made him let her down, not looking at him still once she was back on the ground.

He licked his lips, his mind racing a bit and he found himself fumbling with his speech, not wanting to direct the attention on what they just did. “Are you hungry?”

“What?”

He frowned a bit. “I just… Are… you hungry?”

She frowned. “Uh… A-A little.”

“Do you want to feed?” he asked and she shrugged, still not looking to him obviously embarrassed at her previous actions and he frowned at her. “Serana?”

“What? Yeah, sorry, I’ll go back in,” she said absentminded. “Sorry for, uh. Yeah.”

He caught her before she went too far away. “Serana… Don’t be sorry,” he said making her pause. “I do care for you. Really. I just… I just thought maybe you’re hungry. After all that time being locked away.”

She fidgeted a bit.

“Not… Not in that way! I mean…” he was fumbling over this and they both knew it and finally he just rolled his eyes. “Serana, I like you.”

She finally turned to look at him and he went in for the kill. He kissed her, making sure she could feel it despite her being undead and she tensed before she melted. He pulled back, brushing her wet hair from her cheek. “There’s no reason for you to be sorry when I’m not. I like you and I care for your wellbeing. And that was nice.”

She let out a shaky breath, blinking as the rain went down into her eyes. She opened her mouth, nearly speaking his name but she hesitated and let it die, instead thinking before she spoke.

“Will you join me in feeding tonight?” she asked. “You don’t have to-”

“I would be delighted.”

And then she smiled. That soft, warm smile which made his dead heart almost beat and his face blush. That sweet smile only her and her mother ever held that he hadn’t seen in so long and he found himself staring at her. She pulled up her hood, looking at him over her shoulder, before she started up towards the castle and he snapped out of his daze to follow.

When he really thought of it, he really, really liked her. And her father could be damned for not realizing her importance.


	32. Silver Humiliation (Various)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Dearest A!As of the kink meme, I have a humiliation kink like you would not believe. So I'm downright begging you, any of you, to write me some humiliation.
> 
>  
> 
> *sweats nervously* Okay, I admit it. I did what I had to do to just get this out of my head. Not that I condone torture but you know... I've been thrown in Cidhna Mine enough and started developing headcanons on what really goes on in there pre-PC being tossed in. I mean, it can't be pleasant.
> 
> Additional Tags: Noncon, Sounding, Double and Triple Penetration, Crossdressing, Slut-Shaming I guess, Watersports, General Nasty Business, I am Terrible I know

_Uraccen._

He had only been twenty-four when he ended up in Cidhna Mine. Things were different back then. Guards were different. Even though they were Nords and the two groups despised each other, there was still a code that was upheld. They were harassed but never to the point where it felt life-threatening. But as time went on, there was a change. And it came from the new generation of guards.

It started with little things. He had been used to beatings from the guards as it was one way to remind them of who they were but the newer shifts seemed to take a bit more delight in them. And they loved testing his limits. The first time they had stripped his bottoms off, whipping his backside until he finally begged for mercy. But the second time, they began pushing it. The whip was replaced with their hand and they didn’t stop at his submissive cries. 

Their fingers roughly delved and when he tried to resist he was chained to one of the cell walls, made unable to move. He couldn’t stop the fingers from entering him and stretching him until one of them decided it would be a novel idea to insert the whip into him. He was spread and made to show how much he could take to the other guards before he was let go.

Then, the real problems started. They attacked him in front of the other prisoners. One of the guards had gotten excited to see how much he could take and he was forced to kneel and show his fellow forsworn. He tried not to cry out but that wasn’t satisfying to the guards. After all, he was a forsworn slut, as they called him. His hair was pulled, his mouth filled and the other prisoners were forced to watch him get raped.

He held himself together well until two of them wanted him at once. He had never been penetrated by two men at once and with no proper comfort or foreplay, he took it with a scream. His mouth was filled to the point where he gagged, his hair pulled hard and when it was over he fell on the ground, shaking, blood on his thighs.

One of the other forsworn was ordered to go help him get up and back to work. And when the guards left back to their safe place above the mine, he broke down. He was thirty-four and had been in the mine longer than some of the others. Some who looked up to him. And it shamed him greatly to had been broken before them.

Madanach came out after everything had died down and assured him it wouldn’t happen again. He had just been notified of what happened. But he knew it would. It just wouldn’t be done inside the mine. And he was right.

He was the one the guards went to if they wanted to double penetrate a prisoner. Sometimes even triple penetrate which he hated more than anything. But when they broke his back it stopped.

It was the only good thing he had happen to him there.

 

 

—

 

_Odvan._

 

He came into the mine when the rules already had been broken. The first week, after he adjusted, a guard came to him. He told him he had a pretty mouth. He soon learned what exactly that meant as he was forced on his knees and made to swallow the man completely. He had never held another man’s penis, let alone sucked on it and he struggled in vain against the forced blowjob he was made to perform. The guard was displeased with him after he spit his semen on the ground. He needed to be ‘trained’ he was told. Something he and the other guards would do.

So he became their slave. He was slimmer than the other forsworn and many of the male guards often called him a girl because of it embarrassing him. He sometimes had to wear more female-orientated clothes because of it which he found humiliating but it was nothing in comparison to what he was made to say. 

When the guards brought him up to his ‘special cell’, where he had to put on dresses and sometimes wear a collar, he was given a list of lines to say which he always read with a stutter before they would act on him. He hated doing it but he had no choice.

“I-I want you all to fuck my dirty mouth. My t-tongue needs to be scrubbed c-clean.”

“Please f-fill my holes u-p with your hot seed.”

“I-I’ve been a b-bad girl and I-I need to be punished.”

“My… My pussy is d-dripping for your fat cocks.”

Saying the degrading lines would usually make them act. One would be designated the Master who controlled how far they would go before they would fuck him mercilessly. He never got used to it as he didn’t like the guards or the cocks inside him. But when they touched him, sometimes he came which only spurred them on. They would get wilder, more guards getting involved until he was made to service them all, sometimes multiple times during the course of his ‘service’.

He always left them sticky with cum and when he was pushed back into the mine, he would sometimes nearly collapse from exhaustion. He was allowed to rest after, someone else taking up his digging but it never made him feel good. The entire thing never did.

He wasn’t a girl. He didn’t like being forced to be one for them and he didn’t like the taste of men’s semen or their cocks. He always wanted to take revenge after but he was too scared.

In the end, he had to endure. He had to be the girl for the guards and take their non-stop demands to be serviced by his ‘dirty mouth’. After all, if he didn’t, then one of the others would be put in his place. And he didn’t wish his oblivion on anyone.

 

—

 

_Duach._

They knew he was a skooma addict. His shakes weren’t so bad sometimes but other times they made him unable to even hold a pickaxe. It was then that he was fetched by some of the guards. They mocked him for it, ripping his clothes off as they did but he didn’t fight back. He couldn’t, really. All he could think about was his fix and how to get it.

That was how they used him. They would put a bottle of sweet, double-distilled skooma in front of him and then produce the silver rods they kept in a box. He stuffed one up his cock, he could have his skooma.

He didn’t want to but the shakes were bad. He would do anything to settle them. So he did. And he hated it. The rods always felt bad going into his body, and sometimes his hands trembled so bad he couldn’t do it. So a guard would come and help him.

He would be penetrated by them, his legs spread wide for the others to see and he couldn’t help but get erect from it. They would mock him as the rod wouldn’t fit when he was so he’d have to wait. And they would help him wait it out by conveniently fucking his ass.

The first time he would come, it wouldn’t be so bad. But the more times he did, the more times they forced him it would become more and more painful until he was begging them to stop. They would show him the skooma. After all, didn’t he want it? He would always hesitate then answer yes and they would proceed, spreading his legs wider, his cock being abused until he couldn’t take it.

Then they would grab it, hold it steady as they inserted the rod and he would always shout and cry as they did. He hated it. He hated the feeling and they sometimes teased him by moving it in and out of his slit. But that wasn’t the worst.

The worst was the one that locked into place. And they would fuck him with it on. He went mad at the feeling, the stretching killing him and when he was at the brink of breaking they would remove it and give him his skooma. He always thanked them mercilessly for being so kind as to letting him go and they would only grin.

He was setting himself up, he knew it. He had to stop his addiction because if he did, the guards wouldn’t have anything to tempt him with. But the skooma made the mine better. After all, who could stand such a place? He could only get through it when he had moon sugar in his veins and he knew that was what was going to kill him.

Because one day, the guards might not pull back before he snapped. And then it would be all over for him.

 

—

 

_Borkul._

The guards didn’t touch him. Not often, anyways. Unless Madanach was being punished. Then, he was free reign.

He fought them, of course, but the bastards had this trick. They would hold him down and force him to drink a potion, one that made him groggy and his limbs turn to jelly. That was when they would take him upstairs and he’d be subjected to the ‘spit-roasting’. He damn well hated the spit-roasting.

It was a beam that had cuffs, something specially made for the prisoners of Cidhna Mine. The original purpose was to cuff them onto the beam then beat them. But the guards of Cidhna Mine found a better purpose. One which let them fuck unwilling prisoners. He was always subjected to the spit-roaster. He prided himself on it but mostly, it was humiliating.

His pants would be pulled down, his body oiled up, and then they would take his dignity away. They would make him moan. The guards always were gentle with him, their hands touching every part of his body, rubbing in the right places until he was dripping and he would groan.

That was what was the worst about it. They did it so when he couldn’t take it he would beg. And Borkul the Beast did not beg. 

He would rather have them fuck him raw and fight him; punch him, make him bleed, anything. But instead they made him feel hot, sticky, and needy for release. Their fingers would always be coated in lubricant and they would slide in and out of every place he wanted them to enter.

They played with his backside, always careful never to press in until he asked them to. Then they would and they would do it gently, coaxing him to roar and yell for them to fuck him but they never would. It was always slow, always teasing, and even when he came he didn’t feel relieved. 

His mouth would be made to open and they would pour honey or mead or some other tantalizing thing on their cocks for him to suck, one of more being presented with such things until he would have to tell them which he wanted. Only then would he get his treat while whoever worked his ass would push their slicked up cock in. And they would push and rub and massage his body until he came. Then they would keep going. They didn’t mind drawing it out because each one had a chance to take a turn, agonizing him. He would come again and again from one guard while the others petted him like he was a prize bull.

And after it all, when he still had no relief, no hard fuck that left his muscles aching well, he would be released. Let to go back into the mine, unsatisfied from the feeling. That was when he would find one of the other forsworn and make sure he got what he needed. Odvan worked well for it but when he was down, Duach was the next best thing.

He swore that when he got free, he was going to hunt down every one of those guards and make them pay for humiliating him in such a way. He figured the first thing he would do was drug them. After all, an eye for an eye and they deserved to feel just as he did during his torture.

 

—

 

_Braig._

He was there the longest. He knew the game. He watched Uraccen get overwhelmed, saw Odvan collapse on the boards after a session. He had heard Duach’s skooma-addled muttering in the night and he had seen Borkul’s rage at being made to submit. But he didn’t act out. After all, that was what the guards wanted. It was how they broke a man.

He didn’t care when the new guards came and hauled him off with the intent to torture him. He barely flinched when the rods were brought out. He didn’t cry when he was penetrated by more than one man - though he had to admit after, he was pretty damn sore - nor was he tempted by Skooma or emasculated by a dress. They tried fisting on him. He found it amusing, really. They tried binding him, making him lick boots, forcing cum from his ass into his mouth, anything they could think of. They were things that broke the lesser forsworn. But he was not one of them.

And so, he had won. Or so he thought.

He was brought up one day after they had another session with Uraccen, the exhausted man looking grateful to get out and he was taken to where the buckets were.

Semen was smeared on the board.

“Clean it up,” one of the guards demanded. He rolled his eyes and went to grab a cloth but he was stopped. “With your tongue.”

He paused. Now that was an odd request. He looked to them and the guard grinned.

“Do it,” he was told. And he did. Only to make sure they hadn’t won. He went onto his hands and knees, leaning down as he did and he licked the semen off the boards. It was vile. He didn’t let it show.

“Keep going,” the guard demanded, standing over him as he did and he slowly went around, licking up the spots. His tongue soon went numb and he spit out a rock but the guard wasn’t satisfied.

“Clean it better!” he shouted. He growled, licking the boards, careful not to get a splinter on his tongue. “Clean up after that slut of a forsworn that was here!”

He licked it up.

He moved to around the buckets, licking as he went when another guard came in. He came to stand beside him, his shadow looming over. There was the sounds of a belt buckle being undone and Braig paused slightly, lifting his tongue off the board. It took only a second before he was hit with something warm. It ran down his neck before it moved into his hair and he stared at the boards in front of him.

The damned bastard was pissing on him. His cheek twitched. How dare they.

The guard shook his dick a few times, getting every last drop before he pulled his buckle on, chuckling as he left. The guard beside him smirked and when he didn’t move, he was kicked.

“Clean it,” he was told. “Before I really lose my patience.”

He had no damn choice.

He went down after he was ‘relieved’, fuming as he did and he walked up to Borkul who was standing by the gate for Madanach’s cage. The orc frowned when he saw him before his nose wrinkled.

“You smell like piss,” he said. Braig stared at him.

“I want to see the King,” he said. “And I want to see him now.”

“No one sees the King, Braig,” Borkul said. “Not unless I approve.”

“This isn’t me asking. This is a demand.”

Borkul still didn’t move and he got closer, his hands turning into fists before the orc finally relented. He unlocked the gate.

“Whatever,” he muttered and Braig went in, moving down the rugged path until he came to Madanach’s quarters. There his King sat, looking quite miserable and he raised his head when he approached.

“Braig,” he said before he smelt him. “What… Did you piss yourself?”

He took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, his eyes wild. “Madanach,” he said in a cold tone. “This had to end.”

“What?” he said and Braig stepped towards him.

“The guards. They are going too far.”

Madanach slowly relaxed at his statement and he went to slumping on his chair, his hand coming up to rub his temples.

“I can’t stop it,” he said. “I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.”

“Braig,” his name was said in an irritated tone. “Trust me. I want this to end but I can’t. I can’t control them.”

He inhaled again, holding it, before he exhaled and he stared at his King, disappointment in his eyes. “Uraccen’s back was broken. Duach can’t piss properly. Odvan cries in his sleep all the time. And Borkul beats us out of anger. We are your people, Madanach. And if you can’t protect us, then why are you are King?”

Madanach glared at him, his mouth pressing thin and Braig raised his head, challenging him silently.

“You know I am right.”

His King said nothing and when a more than reasonable time passed, he turned. The urine on him was starting to dry and he was intent on scrubbing it off before that happened when Madanach spoke.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow, I will change them.”

“And if you don’t?” Braig said, staring at the wall. He heard his King sigh.

“Then let the old gods take my heart,” he said. “Or, more preferrably, take those Nords.”

He agreed.

Tomorrow, they would see what would happen. And with that he left to go find a cloth to wipe off the stench of the Cidhna Mine guards. Tomorrow, their boards would run red with their blood and whoever was left, he was going to make clean it. Every last inch with their tongue.

\--


	33. Starter (Jarl Siddgeir Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: The characters of the game (all non-humans are humans), in a modern day setting: phones, internet, you got it. Preferably involving a thing that you wouldn't find jn the game's timeline such as coffee shop AU, sexting, etc. I'm a very curious anon! Make it as short or long as you will, with no or all of the ships or porn.
> 
> If anyone ever wants to know what my favourite Skyrim fanfic is, this is a close second.

It was 10:18am when she finally decided to leave to go find him. His phone was off, his email silent and after checking two of the local coffee shops to get news on whether he had been there or not, she left for his apartment. Thank the divines he never asked for his key back otherwise she would be phoning his landlord to come open the doors. She didn’t have time to waste tracking him down. Their meeting was today and he was not bloody missing it.

For a moment after she stepped into the elevator of his building she did wonder if he had driven off to his mother’s. Usually when he wanted to blow off work he did run there but she decided to keep up hope he was at his apartment. Otherwise she would have to start sending out emails and phone calls informing everyone the meeting was off and she frankly wasn’t in the mood. She hated talking to Balgruuf’s assistant when she had to cancel. He always had to inquire why and make a fuss on the inconvenience, something she was already well aware of.

But the time she reached his floor she was gritting her teeth. Gods, why did he have to be so difficult? He was almost bloody thirty years old. He should have grown up by now.

“Siddgeir?” she said in a rather loud voice as she knocked at his door, an eerie silence surrounding her in the hall. She looked around, feeling eyes on her as if one of his neighbors was watching from their peephole and she waited impatiently but nothing came back. She knocked again. “Siddgeir!”

She was met with silence again and she fished out her keys, unlocking the door rather quick to step inside. There was a faint light streaming in from the large windows that led out to his balcony, the place bare of life save for his running shoes kicked in the corner and a single mug on the counter. She shivered, feeling physically colder than she had been and she slipped off her heels, stepping into his place.

She headed to his darkened bedroom first, though she did hesitate for a second when she hit the door. There were no sounds of obvious love-making but that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone in there with him. She knocked on the open door frame, looking in after a second and once her eyes adjusted, she saw a lump on the bed.

There was no one beside him and she let her anger take over.

“Siddgeir!” she nearly shouted. The lump didn’t move for at first before under the black sheets did a hand come up. It took a pillow and pulled it over where his head should be. “Siddgeir, for the Divines’ sake, get up!”

He didn’t even reply and she moved to ripping the heavy curtains open, her hands pulling on the string that held down his blinds and light soon flooded the room. The lump moved, an angry groan coming from beneath it and she grabbed a pillow that had fallen on the floor and threw it at him.

“Siddgeir, I am not joking! We have a meeting at one today and you’re not even up!? This is unbelievable.”

“Nenya,” a rough voice came from beneath the sheets. “Fuck off.”

“Siddgeir,” she hissed and she went to his closet, pushing back the dark wooden door to start searching through his clothes. She grabbed one of his suits, taking a shirt with it and she tossed it on his bed before she came to stand before it her arms folding. “Siddgeir, get up!”

He still didn’t move.

“I am not going to say it again!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” he said back, his body moving again and he turned back to his original position, moving so his head finally popped out from under the sheets. His black hair was a mess, the signs of a dark five o’ clock shadow on his jaw and she gaped at him.

“Are you hungover?”

“No,” he growled as he fetched his phone off the nightstand. He turned it on, the bright light making him squint and he fell back down, his hand rubbing his face. “Ten already…”

“Yes, it’s ten,” she said, becoming more irritated. “Get up. Put on your clothes. I’m going to make you a coffee.”

“Don’t fucking touch my coffee machine,” he said but she already left, moving back to his kitchen where his appliances were kept. She searched for the instant coffee maker for a minute, puzzled as she knew there was one he kept around. It was tucked into a corner, the steel body almost blending in with his fridge and she hauled it out and put it on the island, looking for a plugin before she found it on the side. She dug through his cupboards, her nose wrinkling at how bare it was and she checked his fridge for a moment.

Leftover kimchi and Black-Briar lager was all that was inside. She grit her teeth. “Honestly, you’re not in college anymore,” she muttered to herself as she shut the door. She finally found the tiny little disposable coffee cups underneath the cutlery drawer beside a coffee grinder. She plucked one out, not even bothering to read it, before she turned on the machine and threw it in. As the thing started to whirl to life, trying to figure out its function she went back to check on him.

He still hadn’t gotten up.

“Siddgeir!” she yelled and she saw him wince, his hand coming up again to rub at his eyes. “Get UP!”

“Nenya, shut the fuck up,” he muttered again. “Stendarr’s dick you’re loud.”

“Of course I am!” she snapped. “I am not canceling another bloody meeting! This is the third time you’ve bailed on one! You are the CEO of our company - a billion dollar one if I might remind you - and you need to start acting like it. So get up!”

He didn’t move, his fingers lingering near the bridge of his nose, his breathing increasing for a second before it died down. Slowly he moved, struggling to get up and the sheets fell to pool around his waist. She saw white fabric against his skin and decided to stay, moving back to his closet to pick out a pair of socks and a tie. She heard him shuffling behind her and when she turned he had his top sheet wrapped around himself like a cloak, the end dragging on the floor as he made his way to the bathroom.

He slammed the door behind him and she pressed her tongue against her cheek. “You better not be locking yourself in there!”

“Fucking Dibella, Nenya, do you fucking ever shut up?” his muffled voice came back and she pursed her lips but grabbed a tie and threw it with a pair of socks on his clothes. She went back to the kitchen, grabbing the single mug off the counter where it had left a ring and she put it under the coffee maker, waiting as the machine finally decided to work and began humming.

Two minutes later she had a cup of coffee that smelled rather strong and a boss to get out of the bathroom. She waited impatiently for him to come out.

“What are you doing in there?”

She heard him muttering.

“Siddgeir!”

“SHUT. UP.” he shouted back.

“Are you going to take a shower?”

She heard him make a bunch of curses before finally the door opened and he stepped out. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a faded white shirt, his hair still a mess and his face unshaved. His eyes were dark, almost oddly weary and he dragged his blanket back towards his bed, tossing it onto it in a pathetic way.

He then began to cough, his hand coming up again to press against the bridge of his nose.

She stared at him. “Siddgeir.”

“What?” he muttered.

She studied him. Hard. As she knew when he was faking it, she had known him long enough, but something was off. She moved, putting his cup down on his other nightstand and she went to his side, placing her hand on his forehead. He said nothing, his eyes struggling to keep looking at her and she turned to press the back of her hand against his forehead. He felt hot.

She pursed her lips tight. “What were you doing last night?”

He batted her hand away and moved to grab his clothes, looking at them for a moment before he coughed and picked up the suit. “You don’t pair a silver tie with a black suit, you idiot,” he muttered. “Don’t you have any sense of fashion?”

She watched him, quiet. He began coughing again, his steps close together as he walked back to the closet, his body hunched slightly and his eyes weary and she found herself at an impasse.

“Siddgeir, this meeting is important.”

“I heard you the first seventy fucking times,” he muttered as he started digging in his closet. He coughed again. “I’m not deaf.”

She pressed her lips tight.

“You’re sick.”

“Really Detective Holmes? What tipped you off?”

“Siddgeir, stop acting smart,” she cut back. “When did you start feeling sick?”

He finally paused, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth before he turned to look at her. The more she actually looked at him the more obvious it became. His skin was paler than normal. His nose was rather red, his lips lighter than they usually were, his hands looking clammy. There was beads of sweat on his neck and by his temples. And since when did he drag blankets across the floor?

“Three. In the morning.”

“Were you drinking?”

“No,” he said, annoyed.

“What were you eating?”

He frowned. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“Lunch,” he muttered.

“You didn’t eat last night?”

“No,” he said before he hung up his suit, rubbing the bridge of his nose again before his fingers lingered and she watching him wince.

“Do you have a thermometer?”

He said nothing for a moment before he flicked his hand at the bathroom. “In there.”

She left him, moving into his bathroom where she could see a rather large amount of toilet paper wadded up in the basket and a cup half filled with water on the floor. She dug through his medicine cabinet, checking his prescriptions for a moment before she found a thermometer and she came back to find him lying on his bed, his arm slung over his eyes.

“Siddgeir,” she held out the thermometer and he didn’t move for a second before slowly he uncovered his eyes and opened his hand. She gave it to him and he looked at it before slipping it in his mouth, his arm coming back up. She watched him.

“Why do you have a prescription to Doxepin?”

He sighed. “It helps me sleep.”

“…It’s an Anti-depressant.”

“That helps you sleep,” he growled. “Shouldn’t I be quiet when I have this thing in my mouth?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes. And believe me, it is nice to hear you be silent-”

“Ha ha.”

“-But I am wondering if you’re sick because of your prescription,” she said. “It says right on it that it causes drowsiness, stupor, and fatigue.”

He was silent and she waited, her eyes moving to look out his window at the clouds slowly moving to cover the mountains and after a few minutes he pulled the thermometer from his mouth, looking at it before he held it for her to take.

She frowned at the number. “It’s high.”

“I didn’t take doxepin last night,” he muttered as both his arms came up to hide his eyes. “I didn’t drink. Or eat.”

“Then what were you doing?”

He sighed again. “I sent out a bunch of emails. Checked my stocks. And then I fell asleep watching the hockey game. Happy?”

She studied him again, watching his facial expressions but he didn’t say anything more, his breathing uneven and she pulled out her phone, looking to the time.

“This meeting,” she began again. “Is important.”

He let out a labored breath. “I’ll get up,” he grumbled. “Just give me some fucking time.”

She watched him again, her conscious creeping into her thoughts as her eyes fell on the beads of sweat increasing on his neck and chest rising rapidly when he breathed. She looked to her phone, the time now nearly eleven and she found herself staring out the window.

He wasn’t faking it, for once. He seemed like he was actually sick. Yet he had already missed meetings before this. Another excuse would not go over well, not with the other companies and not with their shareholders. Other CEOs came in when they had been sick she had heard through the company gossip mill. Idgrod in Morthal attended a meeting a month after she had given birth to her last child. That had been unheard of.

Yet when she looked at her boss, who didn’t go to work once because he once got a bloody rock chip in his windshield, she found herself conflicted. He should go in, by all means. He had missed enough and she had made enough excuses. And this meeting was important - if they were successful in it then they could be allowed more land to clear and harvest for lumber from the governments. They had the environmental statistics to back up their plans and at the moment, when most of their resources were running thin, this could bring them millions of dollars in revenue. 

But she leaned down, pulling his arms down to expose his forehead, the back of her hand touching it again to feel how it burned. He was running a high fever. He could barely stay awake. He let out a cough, his breath quickening and he turned on his side, shielding himself from the light and she moved back, watching him.

“Siddgeir.”

She saw him grit his teeth.

“How long do you think you can get up?”

He let out a cough. “I don’t know.”

“Could you stand? For one meeting? Do you think you could handle it?”

He said nothing, his shoulders tensing before they relaxed and his eyes opened a bit.

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” she sighed as straightened, moving to grab his clothes again. She gently handed him his socks and he took them but didn’t get up. “Alright, you just need to handle this meeting. It’s only an hour, alright?”

He still didn’t move.

“You can survive an hour,” she reassured him as she grabbed the same suit he had put back.

“I told you,” he coughed. “Don’t pair a black Armani suit with a silver tie. I’m not going to a prom.”

She paused. “Well, what do you want?”

He coughed again, rolling onto his back as his arms covered his eyes again. “Grab my blue Harry Rosen. Top right. Not… the one with the pinstripes.” He let out a ragged breath. “That pairs.”

“Fine,” she agreed as she pulled it down. “Do you have any tylonel? Anything that can bring your fever down temporarily?”

His cheek twitched. “There’s some Advil in my nightstand.”

She found it next to a box of opened cigarettes and she frowned at them.

“Siddgeir, you really need to stop smoking.”

“Fuck off.”

She didn’t say anything more and neither did he. It took him about thirty minutes to ready himself even with her help. He had a coughing fit in the bathroom and she watched him worried when he pressed his head against the mirror and gripped his sink tight but he didn’t get sick. It took him a couple of minutes to recuperate before he was back to dealing with his morning stubble. After, she did up his tie while he stood, careful not to pull it too tight while he swallowed the Advil she had given him.

“You should get some flu medicine from the drugstore,” she advised him once she was done. He shrugged, uninterested.

“That stuff tastes like shit.”

“It’s not supposed to taste like cheesecake you know.”

“They could fucking try,” he muttered. “If they can make a gross burger made out of chicken and bacon for the the bun, they can bloody well try to make that shit not taste like Molag Bal’s asshole.”

She had to admit she smiled at his crude metaphor. But it didn’t last long once she gave him his now lukewarm coffee. He spat it out in the kitchen sink, his mood souring, especially when he heard how she made it.

“I only have that shitty Keurig or Kaufrig or whatever for when I have company,” he spat at her as he slowly slipped on his shoes and buttoned his jacket. He paused against the door, coughing for a second and she waited until he recovered. “If you’re gonna make me coffee, do it right.”

“Siddgeir, you drink the coffee at work which is ground beans in a bag thrown in a filter.”

“And that always tastes like shit,” he cut back. “Damn poor people’s drink.”

She let out an irritated sigh. “If that temperature gauge didn’t read one hundred and one, I would really be questioning right now if you were sick. You’re as mouthy as if you weren’t.”

He opened the door, motioning for her to go through first and he locked it behind her, rubbing his eyes.

“If I wasn’t concerned about this meeting I would throw up on you right now.”

She stepped away from him.

“Grow up.”

“Same to you.”

He had another coughing fit in the elevator, his fingers rubbing his temples hard and she watched him, her lips tight.

“Nenya?”

“What?”

He let out a soft sigh before he winced. “Promise me one thing?”

“…What?”

“The minute after this meeting is over, you will get me home.”

She watched him, his skin still pale, his eyes showing clear signs of exhaustion and beads of sweat forming near his temples again. She reached down, pulling the sleeve of her blouse past her jacket cuff and she wiped at his brow making him flinch for a second before he allowed it.

“I promise,” she found herself saying.

“Thanks.”


	34. Steel Composure (Elenwen/Ondolemar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Fluffy winter times with a couple! Not too picky on the guy and the girl.
> 
>  
> 
> What's that? Any/Any? Don't mind if I abuse it with my personal preference to who Ondolemar should be paired with. Hint: I love Elenwen so, y'know.

She had stopped behind her solar, her eyes out towards the dull, dark waters to the North, the gentle snowfall around her making her blink a few times but otherwise it was quiet and peaceful. This had been common on the Embassy grounds but as of late she needed more mages pulled in from Alinor and more staff waiting in the halls. Ever since that damnable dragonborn came and killed-

No. She wasn’t going to get riled up again. A proper leader never showed their intentions and fury and she took in a soft breath, exhaling slowly which led to small clouds hanging in the air. Wearing one’s heart on their sleeve was never a good thing and if they were to take Skyrim, she was going to have to be more ruthless and calculating.

Steps sounding in the snow drew her attention up and she expected to merely see a guard but she was greeted instead with a calm face that was cloaked in black robes. She found herself turning. “Ondolemar.”

“My Lady,” he said as he came to her side and she looked back out at the sea as he did, his breath hanging in the air. “I was getting worried for a moment. One of the mages is losing their mind trying to find you.”

She sighed, blinking away a snowflake from her eye again. “Can they not do anything without me? I swear, Ondolemar, soon they’ll be asking if I could hold their hand while they cross the courtyard.”

He chuckled. “They’re young.”

“That isn’t an excuse.”

“No, it isn’t. But then again, they are young, new, and unaware of where you come to hide to get away from them all,” he said and she gave him a look. “Elenwen. Give them some leniency.”

Her eyes locked with his, both silent, and she carefully judged him. “You know, Justiciar,” she said in a careful tone making sure she used his title to indicate her displeasure. “Months ago you would have agreed with me. Now you’re getting soft.”

He sighed and looked away. It didn’t satisfy her. “What is Markarth doing to you? Because I’m not sure I like you being so… sympathetic.”

“Markarth isn’t doing anything,” he said making her silently judge him still. “I just remember back when you were that age. You weren’t as graceful and elegant as you think you were.”

Her throat tightened and she found herself struggling not to blush as she glared at him. Thankfully the cold air of the wretched land helped keep her temperature down and she took to watching the sea, her nose raised.

“What do you want, Ondolemar?”

“I merely came to find you,” he said as his hands moved from where they were folded behind his back to his front, his arms crossing as he tried to control the chill overtaking him. “My report is on your desk.”

She was thankful he started talking business. “And? Anything new?”

“No,” he admitted. “We tore down that Talos shrine but it didn’t seem to even affect the population. I suspect some of them may have a shrine or amulets hidden somewhere but I can’t prove it.”

“Keep working at it,” she said, pursing her lips when a snowflake hit her cheek making her shiver. “We need those heretics rooted out.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

She sighed at his words. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Just one more thing.”

“Which is?”

She felt his presence get closer but didn’t react until it was too late, his lips moving over her ear and she flinched. She turned the wrong way, her eyes locking with his and he quickly stole a kiss which made her stiffen.

He pulled away, his expression blank and she found herself struggling, her cheeks starting to turn red. “I missed you,” he said and she flushed like a young teenage girl.

“J-Justiciar-!” she hissed and he leaned down, kissing her again. She struggled, embarrassed, but his damned mouth and taste made her shake and he won out causing her to finally lean into him, the tips of her ears burning. He pulled away but she forced him back, kissing him rather roughly until he placed a hand on her waist and drew her close. She didn’t realize how cold she was until he was pressed against her and she welcomed his heat, their kiss turning more passionate making her ache.

He reached up and tilted her head, making it easier for him to kiss her as he was slightly taller and she melted into it, the only sounds she could hear was their breaths when they parted and the pounding of her heart. Her arms went to around his neck, the snow falling around them quietly making her flush and he held her tight as they embraced.

If anyone had seen them it would have been difficult for them to hide what they were doing but for the time, she didn’t care. It had been weeks since she last saw him and her emotions were overtaking her logic making her nearly cling to him, not wanting it to end.

He was starting to draw his hand down further, his tongue moving against hers when her sense came back and she shoved him away. He merely stood by her in shock for a moment before a small smile crossed his lips, his cheeks flush, and she tried to compose herself.

“Ondolemar, you’re walking a very thin line.”

“Apologies, my Lady.”

“You’re dismissed. Go back to Markarth,” she flushed as she stared at the sea, her body burning. “And send that idiot mage out who wanted to find me.”

“As you wish,” he said and he moved past her, his robes fluttering a bit making her inhale sharply and she was left alone.

She kept trying to steel her nerves but her heart was pounding and her complexion flushed. She exhaled, counting a few numbers and thinking of the worst things she had ever seen; her parents active in their bed. The Emperor after a shower. General Tullius after a shower. Her blush disappeared and she was left feeling slightly ill which she could deal with.

Still. She looked over her shoulder back towards her solar and she contemplated going after him but she held herself steady. Now was not the time to chase after one of her subordinates, even if he was older and she was still shamefully infatuated with him.

Not too long after she heard frantic footsteps in the snow and she waited as a young mage came rushing towards her. “Ambassador Elenwen!”

She didn’t move, her hands clasped tight behind her back and only when the fool nearly fell into her did she speak. “Thalmor Agents do not run, Rumen. And if you cannot address me as My Lady or My Grace, you will learn how we treat prisoners in this Embassy.”

The Altmer flushed and hesitated before her. “Apologies… My Lady.”

“That’s better,” she said finally looking towards him with cold eyes, her emotions not registering on her face. “Now what, praytell, do you want? I’m a busy woman.”

\--


	35. The Alchemist's Letter (Quintus/Niranye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> Ever since I discovered the enchanting table behind Niranye's stall in Windhelm, I've secretly shipped her with Quintus. I love the idea that she's at least a moderately skilled enchanter, and when Quintus discovers this he approaches her for training, which in time turns into a romance.
> 
> Okay, I consider this finished but I guess it could be UNFINISHED if you want idk I can't even think on where I was going with it anymore so wah waaah. Anyways, if I'm not shipping Niranye secretly with Siddgeir in an Alternative Universe, she pairs with that damn cute little Quintus.

It wasn’t the answer he had hoped.

“You want to see me… after business hours?” she said, staring at him as if he just offered her a lump of ebony and claimed it was diamonds and he flushed a deep red.

“Y-Yes…?”

She narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. “Why?”

Now he started to fidget. He had gone over this a hundred times in his head, even daring to ask Nurelion once – though that proved to be awkward and embarrassing – and even though he did have a counter for her question, he was too damn nervous to say it. He ended up pushing his index fingers together, staring at the cold stones of the market and stuttering until she got fed up.

“Quintus!”

“A-Ah? Y-Y-Yes?” he stammered. “It’s, uh, a f-f-fine day, isn’t it?!”

She glared at him, her beautiful eyes running over him making him break out in a cold sweat and he dropped it, his nerves shot.

“I gotta go!” he shouted and he ran back to the Phial, slamming the door and locking it before he fell on the ground. Great, now she was going to think he was a lunatic. His head hit the door and repeated the action several times as the weight of the situation came down on him and he remained in his position for over an hour.

He was a fool.

\--

She stared at the closed door of the Phial, her lips pursing a bit before she packed up her stall, placing all the valuables into a locked chest as the damn guards were getting even worse on their patrols. She wasn’t going to lose her merchandise this time and once she locked the chest she relaxed and stretched. Another rather profitable day. She could have done better but, well, there was a war on.

Her eyes slid to look at the Phial again and she pursed her lips once more. What was up with that Imperial? Why on Nirn was he suddenly speaking to her? She had spoken to him only briefly before. He asked if she carried alchemy ingredients, she told him she did not. That was the end of it. He never approached her again.

Now he came to her and asked her if he could see her later. When she wasn’t open. If that wasn’t suspicious she didn’t know what was and it made her cross her arms, thinking on his motivations.

Did someone ask him to spy on her? She flushed as she thought of Linwe. No, he was dead. She was told he was and she saw that Bosmer thief wearing his armor. Still, it frightened her. What did he want?

Before she could decide she heard the sound of the braziers being lit and it reminded her it was getting dark. Dark in Windhelm was never good and she gathered up her coin purse and few extremely precious valuables and scurried to her home. Once she was inside and lighting a fire she began to think again. She didn’t have much else to do in the evenings than that, as sad as that was. She could pop in at the Cornerclub but honestly, why bother? All she would get was watered down mead and a drunken Dunmer hitting on her with no payoff.

No, Quintus was bothering her. His sudden interest made her wary. If he was spying on her, who was it for? What possible gain could they get from it? Did the guards put pressure on him so they could accuse her of being a thief and confiscate all her stuff again? The thought made her grit her teeth. If Quintus was in league with the guards she would damn well teach him a lesson.

She pulled her enchanted dagger from under her bed, the soul-stealing charm on it making it glow a pale blue under the light. If that Imperial Alchemist thinks he could catch her, he had another thing coming. She could play his game. No, she could do him one better. She could play him like he was a damn lute before he could ever think of giving her up.

She slammed the dagger down, cutting the wooden frame of her bed.

“He’ll be dead before he ever gets me,” she said quietly, the glow from the fire barely illuminating her face.

\--

You see, he was in love. Not that puppy love one experiences as a teenager but a deep love that made his cheeks warm and a smile cross his face when he thought of the fair maiden of his dreams. When she was happy, he was happy and for a time he was satisfied with it. 

But as time moved on he slowly began feeling more intensely about her to the point where he knew he had to act. Watching her from the window of the Phial wasn’t good enough anymore – and rather creepy, when he did think about it – and if he was to live life the way Nurelion told him to, with dancing and laughter and song, he needed to man up and tell her. Otherwise he’d be doomed to become consumed with something like his master was.

So, despite his failure before, he steeled his nerves, clenched his fists and went out again near closing time when Niranye was alone. He was determined, reminding himself to never give up though his legs shook the closer he got to her. He wasn’t even sure when he fell in love with her, just that one day it hit him like a bolt of lightning and he knew he could never go back. And the closer he got the more he shook.

She was a goddess to behold.

She looked at him with displeasure. “You again?”

He vibrated like a leaf caught in a blizzard. “Q-Quintus… I’m…”

“I know who you are,” she said bluntly making him become silent, sweat forming on his neck. “What do you want?”

This was it. This was his chance.

“W-Will you… a-a-a-a-cc… acc… accompany…” his vision shook. “Accompany me… me… to…”

“What?” she snapped and he tried one last time.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak again, and then his world went black.

\--

She watched him faint. He outright collapsed in front of her making her stare uncomfortably at his body, his head twisted and arms splayed out and for a second she didn’t move. Only when Aval gasped in concern did she snap back to reality and she watched the Dunmer move to him. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know!” she admitted. “He just… collapsed!”

Aval frowned but didn’t accuse her more. Which was probably smart on his part. “He just fell in front of you?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes. He came sputtering about accompaniment and then fell back.”

Aval hauled him up, struggling as the Imperial seemed to weigh more than he seemed and he looked to the Phial before back at her. “Can you get the door?”

She didn’t want to but after a moment she relented and let him carry the boy inside. She didn’t stick around, moving back to her stall to pack up and she left the same time she always did, the brazier flames bright from their places lining the stone corridors of the city. She had no idea what Quintus was on about but if he approached her again tomorrow she should probably speak first before he went into a fit.

Whoever was backing him obviously had a strong hold on him and it worried her. Was he spying for the Dark Brotherhood? She would be damned if she ever let them take her. Tomorrow, she should wear her dagger on her hip as a warning. Windhelm was getting more dangerous than it already was and it made her paranoid as she went into her own home.

\--

He lay face down on his bed. “I’m such a fool.”

“Indeed you are,” Aval said as he sat back, looking around the bedroom. “Wasn’t this Nurelion’s old room?”

Quintus groaned, pulling the pillow under his nose to over his head. “Aval, please. Not now.”

The merchant sighed and grabbed the chair near the fire, pulling it up to the small bed which had been moved upstairs. He sat down, waiting, as Quintus wallowed in self-pity over his stupidity. It took him a while but he finally spoke.

“She hates me.”

“Who?”

“Niranye.”

Aval frowned. “Niranye? Who cares what she thinks?”

That made him turn on him. “I do!” he said, tossing the pillow back down as he moved to sit up. “I care!”

Aval said nothing and for a moment he looked confused until there was a light behind his eyes. He opened his mouth, a soft ‘oh’ coming out and Quintus couldn’t help but turn bright red. “W-What? C-Can’t a guy fall in love w-with… with a beautiful woman?”

He stared at him. “You mean Niranye?”

“Of course I do!” The judgemental look he gave him made him nearly turn as red as the fire warming the upstairs. “Don’t you dare look down on me for that!”

“I’m not looking down on you,” Aval said. “It’s just… Niranye? The Altmer? The Altmer who we’re all pretty sure has ties to both assassins and thieves? That Niranye?”

He glared at him. “She does not! Those are rumors! And since when do you believe those?”

He got a shrug in response and a silence fell between them which he didn’t like. He moved, grabbing a glass beside the bed to down and he choked when he realized it was mead instead of water. Aval merely watched him, only raising a brow.

He coughed violently. “W-Will… will you leave?” he sputtered and Aval sighed, getting up.

“You’re making a mistake, Quintus,” he said before he left. “Niranye is a dangerous woman and if you were smart, you’d avoid her.”

“Leave!”

He was left alone and he sat on his bed, miserable, before he forced himself up. If he couldn’t do this like a man and ask her, the beautiful goddess that she was, if she would join him for a drink then he would do it the only way he knew how.

He went downstairs and grabbed a pen.

\--

When he came to her the next evening she found herself almost rolling her eyes. He was glaring at her, fists clenched, eyes forward and she crossed her arms, waiting for him to approach. He came up to her and she tapped her arm.

“Now what, Quintus? If you’re going to faint I have to tell you I’m not going to do anything.”

He said nothing, his eyes locked on hers and he reached into his pocket, his hand shaking a little before he ripped out a piece of paper and held it at her. She stared at it half expecting it to explode or turn into a weapon but it did neither and she reluctantly took it.

“What is this?”

He held his head up, his cheeks turning red and she had no choice but to just open it. If this was from his employer it would make her job easier and she snapped the papers open, giving him a look before her eyes moved to the paper.

_My dearest Niranye._

She frowned at the title. What in the name of Oblivion was that for an introduction? Did she know this man?

_I cannot express myself properly for I am not yet qualified as a respectable man to do so._

Her eyes moved back to him. “Quintus, what is this?”

He said nothing but he was shaking again and she had no choice but to read on.

_You are the dragon tongue’s blooming in the cracks of sand, the deep lavender that shines on Nightshade, the sound of a nirnroot in an empty land. Your beauty is beyond even the aedra, your eyes brighter than a diamond and skin more lustrous than gold._

She found herself flushing but continued to read on.

_I have yearned to speak to you for more than the passing of eight seasons but I have never found the nerve. I still lack it but I cannot bear saying nothing longer and I must ask if you will even do me the honor of accepting a drink with me. For even one night with you would leave me happy enough to die feeling fulfilled._

“Quintus, what is this?” she asked, her throat feeling parched. “This… reads like a…”

“Confession?” he said in a meek voice and her eyes moved to him before she pursed her lips.

“Yes.”

“It’s… It’s because it is,” he said, his voice shaking. “Niranye… I… I…”

She stared at him now suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“I really like you.”

She almost drew her dagger but stilled her hand. Whatever his employer was paying him must be good and suddenly she was on edge again. He noticed her stance and he flushed. “I didn’t mean to put you in such an… awkward position. But I had to tell you.”

“Why?”

“B-Because, I don’t want to die full of regret like Nurelion,” he said making her shoulders slump a bit. “Niranye. Please. W-Will… Will you have a drink with me?”

Her eyes dragged over him, her heart pounding slightly in her chest and her mind still alert but she looked down at the letter again before back at him.

“If I refuse?”

He seemed almost heartbroken but lowered his head, his fingers pressing together. “I… won’t ever… bother you again.”

She folded up the letter, looking at it before she tossed it at him making him flinch. He held it, like it was a glass bird, and he stared at the stones until she hit his arm with her elbow.

“Well, come on. Before the Cornerclub gets too full and we have to drink outside.”

He stared at her, almost crying which made her stiffen before he gave her a great big smile which make her cheeks flush and he grasped her hand.

“T-Thank you!”

“Y-Yeah, sure. Just go get ready,” she said and he was off, running into the Phial leaving her alone and confused. Was he protecting his employer still? Did he learn how to act? Or was the boy really-? She shook her head. Best not to think too hard on it. Besides, she had her dagger. If things got ugly, she would use it. But somehow she felt she wouldn’t have to with the odd boy.

Somehow, his smile felt genuine and it made her own cheeks turn pink.

What was wrong with her?

\--


	36. The Importance of Family (Elisif Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished. Was another experiment.

The news had come a day after the disaster at the Embassy. Six soldiers dead, four mages, and the Third Emissary. Elisif had nearly collapsed when she heard, her mind suddenly reeling and her body weak but she stayed upright. As Falk read the list from the messenger, his eyes sporting an odd satisfaction, she finally moved towards her room making him stop.

“Jarl Elisif?” he asked and she looked to him, her body feeling sick and her face paling. “Is everything alright?”

She knew if she opened her mouth to speak she would start crying but she had to respond and it took all her willpower not to burst into tears as she did. Her throat was dry and her voice raspy as she began to lie. “I don’t think the midday meal is sitting well with me,” she said. “I’m going to go lie down, Falk. Please… run the court.”

He closed the list, looking to her in concern and she heard Bolgeir stir from his spot but she couldn’t wait around any longer.

“I just need to lie down,” she said before she moved towards her bedroom and when she got far enough away she let her voice break. She closed the doors, locking them for good measure, and she went to her bed to break down.

Rulindil was dead.

She grabbed a pillow, sobbing hard into it before she tried to steady herself but it didn’t work. She was devastated. It was if she was losing Torygg all over again. She loved someone and once again she found herself hearing of their death.

No, she didn’t love Rulindil, not truly. How would one love a torturer for the Thalmor Embassy? But she liked him for what he gave her. She loved the freedom he gave her and his quiet submission and dark eyes. She loved that he gave her something – power – which her own court withheld and with him gone she was now back to sitting on her throne being told what to do. She could fight with them all she wanted but they would never view her as someone capable of making decisions for Skyrim. She was a puppet and the only time she could break those strings was when she slipped away to be with Rulindil.

She sobbed harder the more she thought of it. Yes, when she slipped away to dominate the mer and have pleasure and power in their encounters. Now that was gone.

Apart of her quietly reminded her this was a good thing. She was almost caught several times and Elenwen was getting suspicious of him making it more dangerous for them to meet. Plus, he was a torturer and with a group bent on seeing Skyrim fall back into mer’s hands. She had danced with a daedra and now could thankfully come out clean with no one the wiser.

So why did it hurt so much? Why could she not stop sobbing?

She eventually did sleep, waking only once when there was a rattle at her door but for the rest of the day and into the evening she slept with her tear-soaked pillow cradled against her chest. Around midnight she stirred but only to undress, slipping under the covers and moving a few more pillows against her as if it was a body to comfort herself. It seemed to help a bit and she drifted off again, weariness making her sleep.

Tomorrow she would take the throne again and pretend like nothing happened. Just as she did when Torygg died. She would be calm, collected, and sharp as always but she knew the ache in her wouldn’t stop but she needed to handle it. Queens should not let their hearts be shown on their sleeves no matter how painful it was. Queens ruled with their heads, not their hearts, and if she was going to take over then she had better learn to follow that. No matter how hard it would be.

\--

It took a few weeks for her to get to a remotely normal state again. The entire thing left her unpredictable at times and she had even dared to break into Pelagius’s wing to cry, the terrifying place not bothering her as she sobbed into her hands. Too many emotions came up, her thoughts going back and forth between Rulindil and Torygg.

At times, she wanted whoever killed him to be murdered themselves. She wanted a bounty put out and even thought about going herself to find who did this but in the end she kept silent and buried it in herself. Other times, she was happy he was dead. He was a torturer and despite their affair he needed to be gone so that no one suffered under the Thalmor hands. But these thoughts weren’t as frequent as reminders of him made her think about him whispering her name against her ear or the way he would obediently push her dress up and lick her until her toes curled and she came.

She was easing back into the Throne, resigning herself to be a widow for the rest of her life with maybe seven dogs for company and probably a skull collection to really drive home she was crazy when there were noises downstairs making her look up. Falk moved from his place, going to look over the stairs and as she heard her guards arguing downstairs she shifted.

“Steward Falk,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Bolgeir and Sybille moved to see as well and Bryling got up, moving to her side which she appreciated. Falk didn’t answer, not right away, but when a foreign voice said ‘Move!’ he spoke. “What is the meaning of this? You cannot just march into the Blue Palace! Do you wish to start a war?”

“Oh please,” an arrogant voice came back making her frown. “If you want a war, we can certainly oblige but you will die. Now move out of my way! My orders come from My Lady, the First Emissary! Not from some human with a beard!”

She slowly stood, careful as she did and she saw a mer come up the steps, his black robes indicating he was a Thalmor and the soldiers behind him solidifying it. Everyone was tense, glaring at him but she steeled herself and raised her head.

“Welcome to the Blue Palace,” she said in a diplomatic voice. “Please, state your business before you approach any further.”

The Agent merely came to stand at the start of the light that circled her throne and his head lifted, black eyes staring at her which made her heart stop. He looked like Rulindil, without his trimmed beard and she somehow found herself almost shaking. The Agent produced a letter and held it up for her to see.

“My Lady, the First Emissary and Ambassador, has asked me to give this to you,” he said but she didn’t move. “Its contents are private, however, and not meant for the court.”

This was where she was supposed to say something but she couldn’t. He sounded like Rulindil, his eyes as black as his and his cheekbones high but he did not sport a beard but it didn’t matter. Had he come back from the dead? Was he here to mock her or take her away? When she didn’t respond the Agent frowned and he stepped into the light.

“Jarl Elisif,” he said her name with a bit of bluntness. “My Lady wishes you to read this and I require and audience with you in private.”

Everyone around her bristled but she was still in a state of shock. Rulindil. Could he be Rulindil?

“Jarl Elisif!” Falk’s voice came snapping her out of her whirling mind. “Surely you will not consent! They have entered the Blue Palace without prior warning and this… letter? What is so secret that cannot be told to the Queen’s court?”

“I agree,” Sybille said. “If he has something to talk to you about he can do it here in front of the court. We hold no secrets.”

“No offense, but this isn’t your decision,” the Rulindil impersonator said. “And I do not follow your orders, I follow the Ambassador’s.” He turned to stare at her, his black eyes drilling through her soul and finally she moved making Bryling frown.

“My Jarl-?”

She didn’t respond and only came to him, taking the letter with a shaking hand. Elenwen’s seal was on it and she let out a soft, uneven breath. “We can go to my quarters,” she said in a low voice. “F-For privacy. For a private meeting.”

He bowed slightly but all around her the court nearly flinched in shock.

“Jarl Elisif-!” Falk began but she shot him a look.

“I have made the decision, Falk,” she said almost angrily, her emotions tumbling inside her. “This will not take long.”

With that she moved around her lover’s doppelgänger, heading to her room and she heard footsteps behind her that were a bit heavy. He followed and she didn’t look back, only forward, until she came to her room and held the doors open, closing them shut after he came in.

Once they were alone, she started to break. “W-Who are you?” she said immediately and the Agent walked into her room a bit before he stopped, looking around. “Have… Have you come back from the dead to mock me?”

He turned to stare at her and her body began to shake. “R-Rulindil!”

His cheek twitched and for a moment he didn’t move but slowly he reached up and pulled his hood back revealing his hair cut short and lighter than Rulindil’s was. His eyes were still that black, his face so similar but slightly different and she found herself biting her lip, tears brimming her eyes. He merely sighed.

“Landil,” he said making her frown. “My name is Landil, not Rulindil.”

She looked away in shame. Of course he wasn’t. How foolish could she-?

“But Rulindil was my brother.”

Her head snapped to look at him, her body stiff in shock and he gave her a sympathetic look which made her break. She couldn’t help it and she began to cry, dropping the letter to cover her face. Oh, by the divines… A brother. Kin. Someone who shared her lover’s blood, his face, his eyes and she had no idea why that made her weep so hard. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t done so in at least a week or perhaps it was because seeing Rulindil’s kin, how much he looked like him just set off everything she had been keeping in again.

How could the divines be so cruel?

He came towards her but she waved him off, moving towards her dresser to fetch a cloth, not facing him as she fought to control herself. She probably seemed like a lunatic, calling him by his dead brother’s name then crying uncontrollably when he said he wasn’t but a relation. She recited the mantra of being strong and not wearing her heart on her sleeve but, by the gods, she was still emotionally sensitive about this all.

When she finally calmed down and moved a chair to sit in he came to her side and she didn’t look at him, her eyes on the wall and the cloth held near her cheek. “Apologies… I’m…” she was what? “…Having a bad day.”

He came to her side, the letter being held out and she stared at it before she slowly took it, the corners crumpled a bit. She didn’t look up to him, her cheeks already flushing in embarrassment and she tried to get off the subject and be regal, like she was expected to be. “What does Elenwen wish to discuss now?”

“It’s not what Elenwen wants,” he said quietly. “It’s what I want.”

She frowned in confusion, still unable to look up but he spoke before she had to. “I know you were involved with my brother, Jarl Elisif.”

She froze.

“And I know that you dominated him as well.”

The letter fell from her hands again and she stared at the wall, not moving.

“I-I don’t… know what you’re…”

He was in front of her, his hands soon grasping the arms of the chair and his face came in view, his black eyes staring deep into her soul making her nearly flinch. He searched her and she stared at him, fear rising in her chest and she was about to shout for the guards when he spoke.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said in a low voice. “Did you treat him well?”

She stared. “W-Who?”

“My brother,” he said in a voice that made her throat tighten. “Did you treat him well?”

Tears welled up in her eyes again for reasons she didn’t really know. But she nodded in response, a sob coming from her throat and she was back to struggling with her emotions. He touched her shoulder and she flinched but she soon found herself in his arms, hugging him tight as she cried.

This was wrong, she reminded herself. His brother, an obvious Thalmor Agent, knew about them and by all means she should be raising the alarm for the guards or fighting with him or something. But instead she took to crying against him and he didn’t shove her back. He could blackmail her for this and she tried to move away but she found she couldn’t.

She hadn’t had any comfort since Rulindil died since no one knew and she wouldn’t say it anyways if it came up. But now she was with someone who did know – his brother – and she turned into a young, childish woman who sobbed over her lover’s grave. She was in her thirties, she should have more restraint.

His hand came up and ran down from her head to her back. “Well, it’s a comfort to know that you did care. I was actually ready to come in here and kill you if you admitted you were using him.”

She pulled away. “E-Excuse me?”

He frowned at her. “What?”

She moved back into her chair, taking a moment to try and discreetly blow her nose. “K-Kill me? For what?”

“If you were using my brother,” he said again. “Altmers rarely mingle with humans. It’s seen as a loss of senses and disgusting.”

“I know how it’s seen,” she snapped, feeling angry now at his accusations. “But w-what? If I didn’t start crying, you would have killed me?” She looked down at the letter, grabbing it to rip open and there was nothing written making her stare. She looked up to him, furious, her fear moving to the back of her mind but still present and she looked to the door.

He noticed and sighed, leaning up. “Let’s start over. My name is Landil, I am Rulindil’s brother, and I lied to get in here so I could talk to you and make sure you weren’t blackmailing my brother since you two were having an affair.”

She glared at him, wiping away her tears as she did with the back of her hand. “How… did you find out…?”

“My brother was never truly discreet. He did keep journals,” he said and her blood ran cold. Oh gods, no. He never mentioned that. She started to shake, fear now flooding her and his brother took notice. “Relax, it doesn’t mention you by name. I just am very well acquainted with my brother’s code.”

“C-Code?”

“How he writes,” he said. “His fantasies are always written in code in case someone did take his journals. You tend to learn these things when you frequently go and snoop through his things as a boy.” He gave her a smile but she still wasn’t relaxed, her emotions tumbling in her and her body wary of the Thalmor before her. He sighed at her tension. “Look, I just wanted to know who ‘My Grace’ was. It wasn’t the Ambassador and when I dug around and talked to the guards your name came up in passing with a few others.”

“O-Others… know?”

“No,” he said. “They just know he’s called you ‘My Grace’ once at a party since you are royalty. I actually thought his mistress was someone else but your crying sort of confirms it,” he admitted. “Also wiped away my doubts you might have been blackmailing him since women usually don’t sob uncontrollably like this. They usually tend to get angry they no longer can blackmail someone or mock their kin with their knowledge.”

He studied her for a second as she tried to take it all in. “So, you were my brother’s dominator? I have to say, I never thought a Nord would be into it.”

“…What?” she said, confused. Her head was reeling already. She didn’t even know what she had gotten into. She didn’t even know what she was truly thinking at the moment since her entire body was like a boat on the heaving sea. She was exhausted and drained and really she just wanted to lie down and go to sleep and wake up with this conversation having never happened. He seemed to sense it and he stood awkwardly near her.

“Are you alright?” he asked and she frowned.

“No,” she answered and she slouched in the chair, holding the cloth to her. She had a husband who had died, her parents who had left Skyrim for southern Cyrodiil who she never got in contact with again, a lover who was now killed and now his brother was before her almost ready to kill her if he suspected she slighted his kin. What she needed was a drink – a strong one.

Her soft moans of pain and her endless rubbing of her eyes made him move and he came back with a goblet full of water. He offered it and she took it but she didn’t drink. He didn’t say anything about it and she wasn’t about to offer him a chance to when there was a knocking at the door.

“Jarl Elisif?” her name was called. “Is everything alright in there?”

She sighed, finally taking a drink. “Yes,” she responded after some time. She knew her court was probably going crazy outside in worry but she didn’t really care. She had literally just been on a horrible emotional rollercoaster and what she needed was space. She downed the water, putting the cup on her dresser before she fixed herself, just wanting to leave.

Rulindil’s brother watched her silently and when she went to the door he finally protested. “As awkward as this is, I’d like to talk to you more. Privately,” he said and she frowned.

“What more is there to say?” she said, moody. “You came here, got your answer, and what else do you want? I cared about your brother, we had a relationship, it wasn’t blackmail and now he’s dead and I’m tired.”

He sighed softly. 

“Yes, but that’s not the only answer I want to know,” he said. “I’m curious about you.”

She turned to look at him, her gaze a bit cold. “My private life is not something I discuss with strangers or my former partner’s kin. Especially after they accuse me of things.”

“What about speaking to a fellow dom?” he said and she frowned, not understanding. “I do exactly what you did to my brother. Only, and I am guessing, more professional and skilled.”

“I… I’m not…” she found herself sputtering a bit. “I only did that with Rulindil.”

He stepped towards her. “But you liked it, did you not? Otherwise he wouldn’t have written several times about it.”

She flushed. “I-I said my private life is not up for discussion!” she turned and motioned at the door. “Now I think it’s time you left! You got your answer and I’ve been humiliated and exhausted enough!”

He stared at her with those damned black eyes and his shoulders rose before he exhaled and he reached up, running a hand through his hair. “I’m messing this up again. Sorry, speech has never been my forte.”

“L-Leave!” she said, anxious, offended, exhausted, and just plain confused. She had so much going through her mind it felt like it was going to explode.

And just like that, he gave her a long look, bowed, and was gone.

\--

Well, no one is ever truly gone from her life. She should know that by now.

After he left and Falk and Bolgeir and Sybille came in, seeing her state and fussing endlessly, she dismissed them and took the rest of the day to lie in bed, switching between crying, hissing in anger at the Thalmor, and imitating how she should have handled the entire situation. How she should have acted was cool, collected, snarky, and probably just a bit sexy to show his brother that she had dominated Rulindil and she was damned good at it and being Queen.

Except she came off as a psychopath and it made her hit her head several times against her pillow. She was going over how she was going to proceed, coming up with elaborate schemes and scenarios, all which ended with her being on top as a cold, mysterious, powerful female just as their Ambassador was but she knew how she should handle it. She should drop it and never mention it again.

It would fade from her memory in a few years and if she was lucky, his brother was only here for the death and not anything else and would go back to the Isles and she would be left alone to own more dogs than Igmund and possibly crazier than Pelagia.

It made her sigh but she had to move on. That was the right thing to do and in the morning she woke early to dress herself, applying some of the oils from Elsweyr she had gotten as a gift to her skin and using a few Dunmer tricks on how to make yourself look as if you didn’t spend all night crying or having a fit.

She didn’t speak about the meeting yesterday and her cold looks when it was mentioned made her court drop it but she knew they would gossip when she was not around. Let them. She was bigger than that. She had a province to run and duties to attend to and she moved on with her day just as she kept doing before. Okay, so maybe during the middle of the day she went into the bathroom to sob a bit over Rulindil again and embarrassing herself but it was brief and she was out before it became suspicious.

And after a few days, everything went back to normal and she somehow felt herself relaxing again. Maybe she had finally reached the end. She enjoyed the taste of food again, her emotions didn’t flare up like they did during times when the court was in a lull during the afternoon and she slept through the whole night for once.

She found herself smiling again, ready to take on the day when a courier came. Several invitations were given out, to Bryling, Erikur, Sybille, and herself and she paled when she saw the handwriting. It was from the Embassy.

“Oh, another party,” Bryling said in a rather flat tone. “Introduce the new mages that are there. How typical.”

Elisif’s hand shook and she slowly opened her invitation. The new Mages and Third Emissary. A party on their behalf. She felt like she should faint.

“You know Bryling, if you don’t enjoy the Thalmor’s company, I can find someone who does,” Erikur said and she glared at him.

“Oh, shut up Erikur. Save your ass-kissing for when we are actually there.”

He snorted at her, folding his invitation up before he looked to Elisif who was still staring at it as if it was a mark by the Dark Brotherhood. “Jarl Elisif? What is your opinion? Shall we go?”

Her fingers clenched the paper tight.

“We’re going,” she said through gritted teeth making heads turn to look at her and she folded the card up. They had no choice but to go.

 

\-------


	37. The Recreations of Men (Ancano/Mirabelle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were ALL responses to spam about some sort of stupid drug. I don't even remember, I just remember thinking Enthir would try and sell that shit.
> 
> Here it is: tramadol recreational dose - ultram side effects in men
> 
> Like ha ah ahahahaa what the fuck. I'm writing my OTP for that now, live with that spam.

"What in the name of Stendarr's Mercy is that?" Onmund said as J'zargo held up a small bottle, his tail slowly moving back in forth in leisure as he did. The Khajiit mage merely tossed it at him before crossing his arms, watching as Brelyna leaned over to see what the bottle was as well.

"J'zargo is unsure but it was in the Thalmor Mage's things," he said making Onmund panic and throw it back to him.

"J'zargo! Don't steal! How many times do we have to tell you that?" Brelyna scolded and he scowled at her. 

"It was not stolen! It was in the open, in his chest, which was open," he said making her huff. From the door there was a chuckle making them turn and Enthir leaned against the archway staring at the three young apprentices.

"My, my, my. Did I hear someone mentioning stealing things?" he said with a smile making Onmund shake his head violently and Brelyna flush. J'zargo merely smirked.

"J'zargo does not steal. This was in plain sight," he said, holding it up. Enthir came forward and took the bottle, turning it over to read the small label on the side. He frowned.

"What is this?"

"J'zargo does not know."

"Whatever it is, it's Ancano's! Now go put it back!" Onmund said nervously, almost dancing in place. Enthir gave him a look, rolling his eyes for him to see before he focused back on the bottle.

"Tramadol Recreational Dose," he muttered. "Ultram Side Effects in Men?" He held it for a second before he began to smile, a chuckle escaping him. "So... Ancano uses this recreationally, does he? I wonder who the lucky lass is."

"What are you talking about Enthir?" Brelyna asked and he merely grinned and tossed the bottle back.

"Nothing, my dear freshmen. Nothing at all."

 

\--

 

He watched the mage dig through his stuff, his expression sour making him almost laugh if he knew it wouldn't get him in shit. Ancano shut his chest with a slam, looking around for a minute before he checked under his bed and finally Enthir had to step forward.

"Missing something?" he asked and the Thalmor Agent stopped and slowly stood up, adjusting his robes as he gave him a look of distaste.

"No," he said. "I'm checking to make sure you little bastards haven't touched my things. Especially that little cat mage," he stated but he was still flushed and Enthir smirked.

"Who, J'zargo? Just because he's a Khajiit? That's unfair judgement," he commented and Ancano turned on him.

"What do you want... Bosmer?" he spat. "Because if you're here to just mock me I can assure you I can send you someplace else."

Enthir only grinned before he reached into his pocket and produced a black bottle. It was more than satisfying to see the Thalmor Agent stiffen. "You want some of this, don't you?"

"Where did you find that?!" he snapped as he moved to grab it but Enthir pulled back. "You little thief! I'll have your throat slit and-"

"This isn't yours, Ancano," he pointed out. "Your little drug comes in blue bottles. This is black. And... a bit more potent." He held it up to the light and the Agent flushed a bit. "I heard a rumor you use this stuff for... Well, your discretion. I just happened to come across some in my last shipment. Funny how that works?"

He was silent for a while. "What do you want, Bosmer?"

"To make a deal," Enthir grinned. "You get your drug and I get some coin and info."

"What type of information?" he asked and the Bosmer mage raised his brows.

"Who are you fucking?"

Ancano seemed revolted at his words but he calmed himself, his expression turning cold. "I will give you fifty septims-"

"This is worth five thousand and you know it," he pointed out. "So don't try and play me. Four hundred and fifty septims and you tell me who you're fucking."

He was silent.

"This is a bargain, Ancano. And I know you need it. I can see your finger twitching," he pointed out making the mage give him a death glare. "Going once... Going twice..."

"Alright! Alright you... you wretched woodland bastard!" he spat and he pulled out a satchel of coins nearly throwing it at him making him stumble as he caught it. "Your Master Wizard. Satisfied?"

Enthir stared at him. "No way," he said. "Mirabelle hates you."

"She may hate my personality," he said as he advanced on him, ripping the bottle from his hand. "But my thick cock she does not. Now get out of here! And if you breathe a word about this I will make sure no man, mer, nor beast will ever find your desecrated remains!"

He merely raised a brow but he stepped back and left the Agent alone, contemplating the dirt he had discovered. Mirabelle was riding Ancano? He could use that to his advantage.

 

\--

 

He found her in the pantry eating a piece of bread while reading her book at the same time. He leaned against the archway, watching her with a smile and when she finally looked up he grinned. The master wizard swallowed quietly and closed her book.

"Something wrong, Enthir?" she asked. "Another student crying you ripped them off? Or are you going to be disappearing again for a few weeks?"

"No, my dear Mirabelle," he smiled. "Nothing of the sort. However... I did find out something yesterday. Something you will be very interested in."

She stared at him for a while, her eyes judging every expression and muscle in his body before she spoke. "And what is that?"

"It has to do with Ancano," he said in an offhanded way making her frown. "Seems he's been taking some pain killers. Potent, addictive stuff." He watched her but she didn't seem to react either way. "One of the freshmen could get into it."

"Enthir, if you've been digging through his things I will have to reprimand you," she said with her same cold tone. "Thalmor or not, he is a guest and his privacy is to be respected."

He pressed his lips together for a minute, smiling to himself. "Yes, I agree. I'm just expressing concern as drugs and mixtures like that can be dangerous."

"Noted."

"I mean, I know he uses it when he fucks you but it still doesn't make it right."

He saw her knuckles turn white against the book in her hand despite her expression staying flat. The air between them got intensely heavy and Enthir found himself smiling despite it and the Master Wizard began to scowl.

"Who told you."

"He did. After I found out about his little habit," he said. "How is he? Isn't he rather large to be doing that with you?"

"Y-You," she began to say, her voice shaking slightly. "No. HE had no right to tell you, Enthir. What did you say to make him? And why are you here? Do you want to blackmail me as well?"

He held up his hands. "No need to get so defensive, Mirabelle! Really! I just found the information interesting, that's all."

She was fuming and he could see it as her cheeks were starting to turn a bit red and she hesitated before collecting herself. "What do you want?"

"A black tome," he said. "It used to belong to Malyn Veran."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

He smiled. "I need to make a deal, as do you. Ancano needs his potion to, what I assume, keep taking you to aetherius and back. You want this silent and I just want a silly book. It seems fair."

She glared at him to the point where he began to shift, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling and she shoved past him, moving quickly down the stairs and out of the Hall. He remained in place, awkwardly, wondering if may have pushed his luck a bit too much or when she came back some time later. She shoved the book into his chest making him cringe and she grabbed the front of his robes.

"If you say one word about our... relationship, I will expel you! And then I will kill you!" she hissed, her small stature still imposing despite him being slightly taller than her. "Are we clear?!"

"Perfectly," he purred and she seemed to get angrier at him.

"Don't think you can do this again as well, Enthir! If you ever dare blackmail me or the staff again I will personally string you up from the Hall of Elements and use you for target practice! Now get out of here! I don't want to see your face around for a while!"

He staggered back but left, smirking as he did. It took him a few minutes to grab his things before he wrapped the book up and began his trek to the Frozen Hearth, chuckling a few times as he did. Leave it to the Master Wizard to merely suspend him for such a thing. 

When he entered he was greeted with the typical scene of empty seats but he was on a mission. He went into Nelacar's room, finding the old Altmer sketching out a rune on some parchment and he fell into the seat next to him. Nelacar briefly looked up then back at his paper.

"Enthir."

"Nelacar."

"Can I help you?"

"No," he smiled. "But I can help you. Remember how you wanted a certain tome a while back?" He watched as the old mage frowned and stopped drawing, his mind obviously going over what he meant when he pulled the book out and tossed it on the table, ruining his picture. He stiffened before his eyes went wide.

"M-Malyn's notes!"

"Indeed," he replied before grabbing it back before it was touched, the book now being held up as the linen around it fell away. "Malyn Veran's notes. Quite the priceless thing, isn't it?"

He could see the Altmer nearly pissing himself over it, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on it. "What do you want, Enthir?"

"What I always want," he smiled. "A deal."

\--


	38. The School of Hard Knocks (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> I need something funny to purge the angst. Bring me your wacky humor, Anons! I don't care what it is or how long. Only kink is crack/humor, no outright smut unless its FOR THE LULZ.
> 
>  
> 
> I mean, I think I'm funny when I'm obviously not but y'know. Had to just try. I also watched way too much Gravity Falls and animu parodies.

_It was spring, the time of love. The time when cherry blossom trees finally opened and released their petals to the wind. A wind that cradled them gently while blowing in a season of change. The season… of Brelyna Maryon._

_Brelyna was not like the other girls at the college. In fact, she was one of the only ones. But she was not haughty or rude like the other, who secretly slept with everyone because she was a cheerleading slut. No, she was the opposite. She loved to read and draw and express herself artistically. Because she had talent. And she could master all the schools of magic due to her heritage. Her father was a noble wizard and her mother was a half-snow elf princess. That made her especially gifted. Even though with that gift came such…_

_**Burden.** _

_But she was beautiful and shy and kind and outgoing and did not realize such things would happen to her. For you see, she did not know of the prophecy that called to her. The one that revealed her destiny - to save Tamriel! Because she was, without knowing it, the legendary Dragonborn of old! Half-dragon, half-snow elf, with full dunmer heritage. She was the one everyone in the world would look to for help and love. Especially her secret heart throb, who needed to still notice her. Even though she tried so hard for him to. But he couldn’t, because he was under a spell. For you see…_

“What are you writing?”

She slammed her book down, flushing deeply as she whipped around. “N-Nothing!”

She came face to face with Enthir and she went absolutely red, grabbing her journal to hold to her chest, some of the other library patrons looking up in annoyance at her outburst. 

She flushed deeply and lowered her voice to a hiss as the damned Bosmer smirked at her. “You! What do you want?”

“I want to know what you’re writing,” he said in a mocking tone. “Because it looked rather… interesting.”

“Get lost, Enthir!” she snapped. “Go bother someone else!”

“Alright, princess,” he said, chuckling as her face went entirely red. “But before I go, here’s a tip. At least change the name from your own, hm?”

She nearly hit him, her entire face fuming and he laughed as he walked out making her curl over, clutching her book tight. She opened up her private journal once she was sure he was gone, burning at his words before she grabbed her quill again. She looked around to make sure no one could see her and she began to write again, furiously in anger and in motivation to get back at the jerk .

_…There was a villian out to ruin her and destroy her one true love. One with dark motives and intentions. His name was…_

She paused, her lips pressing thin as she took in the damn Bosmer’s words. She sat for a minute, really thinking, before it hit her.

_His name was Rihtne. And he was the one who needed to pay for his crimes._

 

\--

 

“Onmund!” Mirabelle’s voice rang from the first floor making him pause in eating his breakfast of cabbage. He raised his head, swallowing the lump before he went to look over the edge of the focus point. The Master Wizard was talking to someone and he frowned.

“I’m here, Miss Ervine!” he called. She looked up, giving something to whoever she was talking to before she walked a small distance into the Hall and held up something.

“A package came for you,” she said. “From your Mother in Morthal.”

“A package?” he frowned before his eyes began to light up. “A-A package! It came!”

“What came?” J’zargo said, stealing some of the cabbage off his plate and he looked to him, excited.

“It came!” he said, rushing to the stairs, almost knocking Brelyna over as he did. He ran to Mirabelle, taking it from her and she raised a brow but said nothing. He held the package dearly.

“Thank you!” he said and she turned to leave.

“Just remember your class starts in an hour,” she said before she left and he ran to his room, ripping the paper off the covered box. He opened it with a swift knock of his hand, cloth spilling out and he dug in the box before he pulled out his prize.

A genuine Dwemer Puzzle Cube. He vibrated in giddiness and he carefully picked up the cube, turning it over in his hands.

J’zargo came to his doorway, leaning against it as Brelyna came behind him.

“What is it?”

“It’s a puzzle cube!” he said, excited. “A real one! They say only the richest Telvanni wizards have them!”

“How’d you get it?” Brelyna asked, looking in with interest. He grinned wide.

“My mom ordered it for me!” he said. “She found someone in Skyrim who had one for sale! For only five hundred septims!” Brelyna raised her brows. “Well, I mean, I paid for it. My mom just wrote the letter asking for it.”

“Asking for what?” a voice came and they turned, seeing Enthir stroll towards them still in his casual robes. Brelyna furrowed her brows and Onmund’s smile fell.

“Oh. Hi Enthir.”

“Wha’d you get?” he said, leaning against the door, drinking from a rather ornate cup. Onmund flushed before he stepped aside.

“Just… Just a cube.”

“Oh, a Dwemer Cube,” he said, raising his brow. “Funny, I just sold one of those recently.”

They looked to him and Onmund found his mouth falling open.

“H-How… How’d you get one?”

Enthir snorted. “I don’t reveal my sources,” he said as he walked into his room, pushing him slightly aside to check it out. He began to smirk. “Yeah, looked just like this too.”

Onmund gaped at him. “You’re… joking.”

“Nope,” he said, drinking from his cup. “Fake as all Oblivion as well.” He smiled and threw the cube to Onmund who failed to catch it. “Well, have fun kids.”

He left and Onmund watched him go, shaking as he picked up the cube. Brelyna frowned. “Onmund… maybe… maybe he sold a different cube. What you could have is real.”

“Yes,” J’zargo chimed in. “Or you could have gotten swindled. Either way.”

He flushed and Brelyna hit J’zargo’s side hard.

“J’zargo!”

“What? It is the truth, yes?”

He dropped the cube on his bed, flushing as he did.

“Guys,” he said in a calm but seething tone. Both apprentices looked to him. “This is the last straw. Enthir needs to pay.”

“Onmund…”

“How?” J’zargo said, his eyes perking up. “Hopefully with spells, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Onmund admitted. “But mark my words, he’s going to pay.”

Brelyna sighed, rubbing her eyes before she looked to the focus points.

“First,” she said. “We have class in forty minutes. And you guys are still in your sleepwear.”

Onmund looked down at himself, flushing a bit. “F-Fine. We’ll get dressed! Go to class! P-Probably get lunch. And then! Then, you, me, and J’zargo, we’re going to make Enthir pay! The Nord way!”

“J’zargo is a Khajiit, not a Nord.”

He looked to him, irritated. “It’s an expression.”

J’zargo sniffed. “A bad expression.”

“W-Whatever! You get what I mean!” he fumed. “We’re gonna make Enthir pay!”

From above the hall laughter came making all three pause and look up.

“Hey, terror squad, I can still fucking hear you, you know,” Enthir shouted, still laughing. “Here’s some advice. If you want to get back at someone, discuss it when they don’t live right fucking above you!”

Onmund went red.

“See you in class, kiddies,” he said, closing the door to his room and the three stood in awkward silence, Brelyna shifting in discomfort.

“So… get dressed?”

“Yeah, let’s get dressed. Then never speak of this again.”

 

\--

 

He looked to him. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask of me?”

Enthir grinned. “I just asked for you to keep some… things… for me.”

Nelacar frowned as he picked up his tankard. “Elaborate on what sort of ‘things’ you mean.”

“Trinkets, odds and ends.”

“Enthir,” he said in a low tone. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“Look,” the Bosmer started. “It’s nothing illegal, if that’s what your worried about.”

“I am,” he cut in.

“It’s just some stuff I have lying around. I’m holding them for a client,” he shrugged. “Nothing more.”

“And what’s the part you’re not telling me?” he said, suspicious. Enthir chuckled.

“There is none,” he said, looking to him and Nelacar pursed his lips. “Nelacar. Dear friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“Dear purchaser of my goods, then. This is one thing. Just hold it for me, just for a few days. That’s all I’m asking.”

He frowned deeply, the wrinkles in his forehead increasing before he finally relented. “Fine,” he said making the Bosmer grin. “But if I get arrested, I am fully blaming you.”

“It’s not illegal, you ponce,” he said, moving to grab the box of mysterious goods to place behind his counter. “Trust me, it will be worth it.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he said and he went back to drinking his mead. Enthir left him not long after allowing him to have a quiet evening where he concentrated on drawing new runes and when last call came he stretching, cracking his back. He began to undress when a knock came at his door.

He frowned and opened it, looking down at a man shrouded entirely in dark cloaks and robes, his face covered with a cloth and his eyes with dark dwemer goggles. The man looked around before at him.

“You Enthir’s boy?”

“Boy?” he sneered.

“Yeah. His boy. You got the stuff?”

He stared at him. Oh, he was going to kill Enthir and he pressed his tongue hard against his cheek. The man seemed to get antsy.

“You have the stuff or not?”

“You mean that box?” he spit. “Yes, I have it.”

“Great,” the man said, pushing him back into his room making him gawk at his rudeness before the man waved at him. “Shut the door, shut the door.”

He did so but not without making sure he had a spell ready.

“Please, the box.”

He went and grabbed it. Damn Enthir to Oblivion for his damn lying. He slammed it on the table of his bar, gritting his teeth.

“Here.”

“Perfect!” the man glowed. “May I see the quality of goods?”

“Whatever,” he said. “But if you’re going to be buying this, I expect a thousand septims.”

“A thousand?” the man said. “What a bargain!”

He blinked. Whatever was in that box… if it was a daedric artifact, Enthir was dead. He watched the man pry it open before they seemed to light up and they reached in.

He stared.

“…Panties?”

“Panties!” the man said, excited and he began removing his mask, his hood falling down to reveal himself. Nelacar stared. “I’ve been looking all over for college girl’s panties. And finally, finally! I have them.”

“I know you,” Nelacar said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a professor at the college.”

Drevis turned pink. “What? No, no… you’re mistaken.”

“No, I know you,” he said, giving him an angry look. “You’re that dunmer illusionist.” He looked at the undergarments in his hand. “Stendarr’s mercy. You pervert.”

“What? No! I’m not a pervert! I’m not!” Drevis flushed. “I need these!”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, disgusted.

“For the Atronach forge!” Drevis flushed. “Trust me! It’s all for that!”

He stared at him in disbelief, still wary but he was intrigued. “What would you possibly need women’s undergarments and the atronach forge for?”

Drevis set down the underwear, raising his hands. “I know, it sounds really perverted, but trust me, it’s for the good of all Skyrim.”

“Again,” Nelacar said, getting annoyed. “What do you need women’s panties for with the Atronach forge.”

He grinned. “Are you ready for this? You combine these and a ruined book in the forge and… do you know what you get?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” he said, irritated. “Just bloody well say it!”

“You get… the Lusty Argonian Folio.”

He stared at him, his mouth falling open a bit.

“Right?” Drevis said, excited. “I was enthralled when I heard!”

“You’re a pervert,” Nelacar said making his smile fall. “You are a dirty man.”

“What, like you’ve never gotten off to those book?”

“I have never read them!” he snapped. “I do not read smut!”

“Really?” Drevis said. “Wow… that’s sad. I mean, jeez. These books are a treasure.”

He glared at him.

“You know… I can bring you a copy. The first one from the forge.”

“Get out of room!” he shouted. Drevis rolled his eyes.

"Man, somebody's cranky."

"Out!" he shouted. "And give me my septims!"

He was thrown a bag of coin. "When you see Enthir, tell him I owe him."

He hissed as the professor left and he held his bag of coins. When he saw Enthir next, the Bosmer had better pray for Stendarr's mercy. Because he would have none to spare.

\--


	39. Thesis Statement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for a Misfire: There's more, at least a couple more parts. And thank you ^.^  
> I've been a little preoccupied with college and a few other things but plan on working on more parts soon.

He stared at it, flipping through the pages, his eyes widening the further he got and finally he had to speak making her blush.

"This is incredible work for someone so young!" he began to say making her smile. "Why, even my nephew couldn't have come up with such a brilliant thesis at your age!"

Aicantar looked up at the mention of his name but when he heard it was less than praise he turned rather pink and bent back over the alchemy table. Brelyna smiled to herself.

"There's more. Well, at least a couple more parts," she said as she raised herself up on the tips of her toes to look at her work, still glowing over his review. "And thank you."

"No, thank you, my dear," Calcelmo said and he went over her work again. "How soon can I see it?"

"Oh, uh, well, I'm still in college and busy with a few other things," she tried to say and when he looked to her almost disappointed she couldn't help but stutter. "But I plan on working on more parts soon!"

"Well, my dear," he said as he handed her back her work and she took it rather gently from him. "When you are done, please, bring it to me. I'd be very interested to read more."

She couldn't help but beam in happiness from the praise and the elderly Altmer turned and went back to his work, lecturing his nephew on his placement of the Cains root and she left the way she came, holding her thesis to herself. She would have to thank Nelacar for the tip later on giving her work to Calcelmo. Maybe, if she worked hard, she could get a job with him exploring ruins.

Wouldn't that make her dad proud?


	40. Underworld (General)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> The image of the housecarls in Skyrim commiserating with each other over their Jarl or Thane's idiosyncrasies (or, in the case of the DB's housecarls, the crazy situations they are dragged into?) over bottles of mead just popped into my head and I would absolutely love fic. The DB's housecarls or the Jarl's housecarls or any combination, any number of them. Genre doesn't matter at all- crack or smut or serious or anything.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't think anyone can convince me from this point on that Siddgeir didn't summon the Dark Brotherhood to kill Helvard. I mean, it just makes a lot of sense...

Gorm was quiet as he watched the Jarls climb the steps up to the second level of the Blue Palace, Elisif greeting them as they came. There was a slight buzz in the air of quiet conversations, the Jarls and Stewards mingling before the conference began. He sighed from his spot below near the door, looking at one of the Solitude Guards who was standing tall, eyes set forward. He scratched his head. He didn’t know why he was instructed to guard the door when there were soldiers to do that for him.

He noticed Faleen, the housecarl of Markarth come from one of the hallways, brushing her hands on her armor before she stood awkwardly in the entrance near him. He found himself strolling over. “Faleen.”

“Hm? Oh, Gorm. Surprised to see you here,” she casually commented and he frowned at her words.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”

She looked a bit shocked and realized her words. “I just meant, I thought you’d be above with Idgrod, not below by the door,” she explained and he sighed.

“I was told to stay down here. You?”

She didn’t look pleased. “Yes, so was I.”

They fell into an awkward silence, the murmurs above getting a bit louder as bits of conversation floated down. Talk of Whiterun’s success in the war, stationing of troops, selling of goods. It sounded dull to Gorm but he could hear Idgrod’s voice from above congratulating someone on their part in the war, her passion about it obvious. He merely sighed again, wondering if he could escape when a woman began descending the stairs. It was a Dunmer in leather and she didn’t look too impressed to be sent down.

“Irileth,” Faleen commented and the Dunmer came over, crossing her arms as she did. “They sent you down?”

Her voice was quiet but Gorm could hear how annoyed she was. “My Jarl commanded it. Seems like the Housecarls, save for Bolgeir, should watch the door instead of be by their side. I don’t like it but I have no choice in the matter.”

Gorm looked around. “Where’s Helvard?” The two women looked to him, silent. He frowned at them not understanding. “What?”

Faleen’s eyes darted around the room before she stepped closer to him, her voice low. “Gorm… Surely you know?”

He shrugged at her still confused. She sighed and walked towards the small seating area near the door, far enough from the guards so they could talk but close enough they could still hear the conversations muffled from above. “Gorm, Helvard was murdered.”

His eyes widened a bit. He wasn’t exactly friends with the man, they mostly had only idle chat between them when their Jarls met at Solitude or, on rare occasions, the blasted Thalmor Embassy but to hear he had been murdered was still a shock. Irileth came up beside them, watching the guards as Faleen pursed her lips. “Did no one tell you?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“He lives in Morthal. Who sends news to the lesser holds?” Irileth said in a calm voice and Gorm glared at her but he knew she was right. They barely heard word of anything from the other Imperial controlled Holds unless it was to call a meeting or demand lumber for the cause. Though, part of that may be because of Idgrod. She had certainly made no friends when it came to her speaking about her visions.

He ignored the bitterness in his gut. “How? How did someone kill a Jarl’s housecarl?”

Faleen only shifted uncomfortably and Irileth turned to look at him.

“Have the Jarl command it.”

“Irileth!” Faleen hissed and Gorm’s mouth fell open making the Redguard shoot him a look. “That’s just a rumor!”

“Helvard’s Jarl killed him?” Gorm sputtered and Faleen moved to deny it but Irileth already was speaking, almost in amusement.

“No, the Dark Brotherhood did it. They say their sanctuary is right below Falkreath… Some even say there are ties within the court to those filthy assassins so for the Jarl to command them to kill his housecarl… It is not an unreasonable rumor,” she said.

Faleen wrinkled her nose. “And what reason would he have to do that? Helvard protected him. Why take out someone who wields a blade in their honor?”

Irileth’s red eyes flashed as they looked to Faleen. “Have you not met Helvard before? He wasn’t exactly quiet about how he viewed his position. He never said he supported the current Jarl of Falkreath, only that he served them. Very mundane words to most but when you do not outright pledge your life to your Jarl, they notice.”

Gorm finally spoke up, still in a bit of shock. “Who is the Housecarl now?”

“No one,” Irileth replied. “Some say they are looking for a new one but no one in their right mind wants to be under a Nord who killed the last one over loyalty issues.”

A heavy silence fell between the three of them and Gorm found himself feeling worried. A Jarl calling upon the Dark Brotherhood wasn’t unusual, he had heard tales of corruption within the courts before but to kill a Housecarl; he felt a chill go up his spine, as if he was fearing for his life. He had been more than outspoken a few times and he began to question if his Jarl knew. If she did, would she have him murdered just like that? Would he even get to plead his cause?

His guilt weighed heavily on him and he moved to look above to the balcony, witnessing the Jarls and Stewards still talking. He couldn’t see Idgrod, couldn’t hear her and he had to move back to the seating area, his nerves getting better of him. They relapsed into silence again, Gorm preoccupying himself with counting the tiles on the floor as the conversations above died down a bit.

“How is Markarth?” Irileth asked Faleen, breaking Gorm out of his counting and he looked to the two women. “I heard you have a Thalmor occupying space there?”

Faleen’s lips pursed. “Yes…”

“How did that come to pass?”

She didn’t look comfortable, her stance awkward and stiff but she relented after a bit. “Agent Ondolemar is pleasant enough. He’s respectful to Igmund, which is all I ask, and keeps out of our affairs.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Irileth said with a bit of amusement and Faleen glared at her.

“If you are trying to suggest something, you might as well come out and say it,” she snapped. “The Thalmor asked us since Ulfric the grand Pretender was there and we accepted their offer to let an agent come. We have had no problems with them and plan not to. You should take note, Irileth. Maybe they’ll want to see your city since, as I heard, there is a Priest who stands out by the statue of Talos and openly preaches.”

Irileth’s eyes drew down. “We would never allow a Thalmor to come into our city and police our people.”

“And neither does Markarth, as Agent Ondolemar keeps to his duties and leaves us be,” she cut right back, the tension in the room rising. Gorm frowned at the both of them. “So do not make it sound like we have bent ourselves before them.”

Irileth only scoffed a bit and they stood awkwardly once again. It was Gorm who broke the silence with a casual comment. “I don’t see why we have to be near the door and not up there.”

The two Housecarls near him did not protest his words and instead looked up towards the balcony. Irileth was the first to speak. “My Jarl is merely taking orders from Elisif. I don’t understand why her Housecarl is to remain there while we are sent below.”

Faleen scoffed. “It’s possibly a show of her power. I heard she is to be the new High Queen and she needs to get respect from the Jarls in doing so.”

“How is making their bodyguards wait below a sign they should respect her?” Gorm muttered. “Unless she is intimidated by us.”

“Highly unlikely,” Irileth said as she stared at him. “It’s just political show. She is the ruler over them, since her husband was and they should be submissive to her by relinquishing their power before her.”

They went quiet again, the tension bothersome, the mood awkward and Gorm looked to see even the guard by the door felt it. He kept casually looking to the three, shifting, and he finally had enough. He stood up and pushed past the two women, finding his way into the kitchen of the Blue Palace where he spotted some mead. The cook at the fireplace gave him a look, as if he expected him to ask but he merely turned around with a few bottles.

He threw one to Faleen, the other to Irileth and took a seat, snapping the top open. Irileth contemplated the bottle for a moment but Faleen got the message and cracked hers open, taking a seat next to him. Gorm smiled and they lightly hit the top of their bottles together, the mead more inviting than conversation.

It went down smoother and more enjoyable than it to. Irileth finally relented, opening hers but she retained her distance, only suckling on it, her eyes still moving to the balcony where it had become silent. The Jarls moved to be seated at a makeshift table, Elisif’s soft voice echoing in the hall and Gorm let out a sigh.

“Hey,” he nudged Faleen and she looked to him, her bottle half empty. “Here’s to us. The protector of our Jarls. May they not kill us in cold blood.” She did nothing for a moment, judging him and he frowned at her. “I-It’s a joke.”

She held up her bottle after but not for long. “Here’s to us… The ones made to sit down below.”

“The slaves to men and women.”

“The slaves to the Empire’s rules.”

\--


	41. Waterfalls (Derkeethus & Hrefna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> It doesn't matter in what capacity or pairing A!A chooses, OP just wishes to see those scaled bastards get some loving. Cuddling or more, friendship or love, just have fun!
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote this really, really quick but I had the idea and had to put it out there. I don't normally write Argonians so I figured I needed to break out of that with one of the sweetest Argonians in the game.

I.

“Derkeethus! Derkeethus! I found a fish, I found a fish!” Hrefna yelled, her hands waving wildly to signal him to come. He looked up from the netting he was rolling in, smiling a bit as she pointed and she hiked up her dress more despite one end already soaked. “It’s getting away! Derkeethus, come quick!”

He laughed at her enthusiasm. “Hrefna, what did you mother say to you this morning?” he asked and she paused, her expression soon turning to a frown.

“No chasing fish,” she said in a solemn, guilty voice. “But this one was re-e-eal big!”

“How big?” he asked and she held out her arms past the typical amount for a fish.

“Thi-i-i-is big!” she said in a loud voice. “I bet it could have fed us for… for days! No, weeks!”

He laughed again and she smiled at the sweet sound of his joy. She hiked her wet dress up and went to his side, grabbing some of the netting and both began to pull at the same time. The net yielded very little fish but the weeds that came up were collected to place to dry in the sun for kindling.

“Go change clothes, little hatchling,” Derkeethus said to her and she frowned. “Before your mother sees.”

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. She changed into another dress that was still too big for her but she tied a rope around her chest to keep it from falling down completely. Her wet dress was hung on a tree just out of the way so her mother couldn’t see unless she looked and for the remainder of the day Hrefna stayed by the Argonian’s side, helping clear the fish of their scales though her arms got coated in them more than the waste bucket did.

When her mother and Sondas came up from the mine she ran to them, holding up a piece of charred fish they had been cooking in the fire. “Mama! Sondas! Look what we caught today!”

“That’s great Hrefna,” her mother said before she moved past her without even looking. Hrefna frowned, turning to watch her mother walk back to camp when Sondas leaned down beside her.

“What did you catch Hrefna?” he asked and she turned to him, still frowning as she did. She held up the fish and he looked at it, giving her a warm smile. “You and Derkeethus worked all day?”

“Yeah,” she said but it wasn’t as enthusiastic. Sondas let out a sigh. “Why’s mom never happy after she comes from the mine?”

“She’s been working all day,” he said. “And she does a good job. Just give her some grace, my dear. She is your mother.”

“Yeah,” was all she said before she walked back to camp with Sondas beside her. She took a seat next to Derkeethus who was turning the fish and she sighed, taking a small bite from her caught dinner. She made a bit of a face and Derkeethus looked to her.

“Something wrong, hatchling?” he asked and she wrinkled her nose.

“It tastes funny,” she complained and he smiled a toothy grin making her look to him. She held the fish to him. “Try it!”

“Hrefna,” her mother said. “Don’t point food at people!”

“It’s alright, Tomir,” Derkeethus assured her and he took her fish, biting into the head. It crunched in his jaw and she watched, waiting for his answer when he swallowed and looked to her. He grinned wide. “Tastes fine to me!”

She huffed and he laughed. “It’s bland!”

“Hrefna!” her mother said and she flushed, her ears burning but Derkeethus didn’t scold her. He slowly got up, moving past them to barrels to dig around before he came back. He set down a bowl, pinching some of the contents between his fingers and he crushed it into her fish before he handed it back. She hesitated.

“Did you put fire salts on my fish again?”

He laughed. “No hatchling.”

She was still wary but she took a bite and brightened at the taste. He salted it and it tasted much better for it making her nearly gobble it up. Her mother, of course, had to cut in.

“Hrefna, manners!” she said in an exasperated tone. “Honestly, you are a Nord! Not a little wolf!”

“Tomir,” Sondas said from his place as he grabbed a cup, filling it with the leftover water from his goatskin. “She’s fine.”

“Sondas,” she warned and Derkeethus let out a small laugh. He looked back to Hrefna and she looked to him, sheepish but grinning. He picked up another fish, crushing salt into the cracked skin and he gave it to her making her smile. He winked before he collected the rest and passed them around, one left for Annekke who had emerged from the mine late.

“Eat well, my friends,” he said to them all and they nodded to him.

“Eat well, Derkeethus.”

He took his seat back by Hrefna who smiled at him as she ate her second fish. “Tomorrow, we’ll fish again,” he told her once Annekke began talking to Sondas and Tomir about restructuring the mine. “This time, we’ll catch that big fish you saw.”

“Really?” she said and he grinned.

“Really.”

She brightened up like the sun at his words.

 

II.

It was turning into the fifth day since he had come back and she was beginning to get worried, her hands now constantly twisting her dress. She looked to the mine, her hands fidgeting before she decided to go down again. Her mother wasn’t happy to see her.

“He still hasn’t come back!” she complained and her mother coughed against the bandana tied around her nose and mouth. “Mama, I’m getting worried!”

“Hrefna, go back outside!” she yelled and she pouted.

“But Derkeethus could be hurt somewhere!”

“Hrefna!”

“I’ve got her,” Sondas said and he went to her side, taking her hand. “Come now, child. The mine is not safe for you to be right now.”

“But-!”

“Come,” he said and she had no choice but to follow him out. When they were in the sunlight and he pulled down his kerchief to breathe she turned on him.

“Derkeethus is missing!”

He sighed.

“I know, child.”

“We should go find him!” she pointed at the falls. “He’d come find us!”

“It’s not that simple,” he said and she began to pout. “We don’t know where we would begin to start looking. And none of us can swim.”

“I can swim!” she cut in and he pressed his lips thin. Tears began welling up at the corner of her eyes. “He’s my friend, Sondas! He… He’s my only friend!”

He sighed. Then he kneeled down, patting her head as she began to cry. “Look Hrefna, after we finish for the day I will try and look along the riverbanks but that’s all I can do.”

She hiccupped.

“I will try, child,” he said in a tone that was supposed to comfort. She continued to cry and finally he drew her into his arms and she accepted, sobbing quietly. “We’ll find him.”

“Can we pray?” she asked and he paused. “Will the divines help us?”

“We can try,” he said and she sniffed. “Close your eyes and think of the divines. Recite your prayer.”

She shut her eyes tight, her mind trying to remember the images of the nine divines but she could only recall one off by heart. The one named Talos. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of the god.

“Please,” she said in a soft voice as she continued to hug the old Dunmer elf. “Please, god, please let Derkeethus be okay. He’s my friend! I’ll do anything to get him back!” she said.

Sondas patted her head. “I’m sure they’ll help, dear child.”

 

 

III.

 

When she heard there was an Argonian at the camp she ran up from inside the mine, nearly tripping as she did. She didn’t expect to see a female standing near the fire, her body wrapped in hard blue steel that she had never seen before and the Argonian’s golden eyes sharply focused on her making her pause. Sondas came up from behind her.

“Can I help you?” he asked and the Argonian looked to him.

“You. Grey elf,” she said in a rather unfriendly tone. “I have gotten word there was trouble here. Who is in need of assistance?”

Sondas frowned. “Trouble?”

The Argonian drew a long sword and Hrefna stared at it. It glowed a deep blue, the blade as thin as paper but as intricate as a tapestry and she couldn’t help but gawk.

“Cool,” she said and Sondas touched her shoulder making her look back. He only looked forward at the Argonian, his facial features hard and his gaze unfriendly. The female let the blade come to rest against her shoulder and the two stared at each other for a moment, the air becoming tense.

Sondas slowly began to speak. “We had a worker here. His name was Derkeethus. He was Argonian, like you.”

“Where was he last?” the raspy voice came and Sondas frowned before he nodded to the waterfall.

“Over there.”

The Argonian looked when he had motioned and her tail flicked in interest.

“I doubt you will find him,” Sondas said and Hrefna paused. She turned on her heel and stared at him.

“Why not!?” she said in a high tone. “Derkeethus could still be alive! It’s only been a month!”

“A month?” the female Argonian said and then she grunted. “Your friend is likely dead.”

Hrefna turned to stare at her in shock. “N-No!” she stammered. “No, he isn’t!”

“Hrefna, go back to the mine!” Sondas snapped and she turned to look at him, tears starting at the corners of her eyes. “Now!”

She ran back. She ran down into the mine and hid behind some barrels, at first angry he took such a tone with her before she sobbed at what he had said about her friend. She would know if Derkeethus was dead. The god she prayed to would have sent a sign.

When Sondas returned she did not come when he called. She did not even come when her mother called or Annekke’s voice ran through the echoed halls. She only emerged when she knew it was late, long after dinner and time for bed. She walked to her tent, all three looking up and her mother began yelling at her but she didn’t respond. She went into her tent, shimmied into her bedroll and covered her ears, going to sleep. Despite it, she still caught some of their conversation.

“She’s just upset that Derkeethus is dead,” Sondas said and her lip quivered. “We’ll leave her be.”

She sobbed again after they had all drifted off.

 

 

IV.

 

She recognized those horns anywhere and she dropped the basket of potatoes she held, her eyes becoming wide.

“Hrefna!” her mother snapped, glaring at what she had done but she wasn’t listening. It was Derkeethus. It was Derkeethus and the female Argonian from before and she began to walk towards them before she broke out in a run.

“Think about it,” the female Argonian rasped before she looked at her running towards them and she stepped back. Derkeethus frowned and turned right at the moment when Hrefna hit him, embracing him hard.

“Derkeethus!” she shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re alive! I knew you were, I just knew it!”

“Hrefna!” he said in surprised and she clung to him tight until she actually smelled him. Then she backed away, holding her nose.

“You smell like bat poop!”

He let out a sigh and the female Argonian chuckled. “My proposal will always stand,” she said to him before she left, her red tail moving along with her hips. Derkeethus watched her, ignoring Hrefna until she jabbed him and he finally turned to her. She jumped at him, grabbing his neck and he had no choice but to pull her into a hug.

She held him tight. “I prayed to a god you were okay,” she said, ignoring the bat poop smell. “No one believed me that you were, but now you’re back!”

“…Yeah,” he said and he patted her back in comfort. “Thank you Hrefna. You’re a good friend.”

She beamed at his words.

She stuck by him as he went back to camp but when Derkeethus asked to speak to Sondas alone, she had to stay behind. She watched them as they talked past the garden, Sondas crossing his arms as Derkeethus made some hand signals and when the two came back she went to Derkeethus’ side. He gave her a tired smile and patted her head.

“Well, all I can offer you is safe travels,” Sondas said making Hrefna stop. She turned on him.

“Safe travels?” her eyes went to Derkeethus. “Where are you going?”

He pressed his lips thin. “Hrefna…”

“Where are you going?!” she said in a more angry tone. “You just got back! You… You just got here!”

“Hrefna, come. Let’s go to the mine,” Sondas said but she ignored him and she confronted Derkeethus.

“Why do you want to leave?” she asked, becoming upset. “You’re my friend!”

“Hrefna,” he said in a sad tone and the tears began to well up around her eyes. “I was offered something wondrous.”

“What?” she said in anger. “You live here! With us!”

He sighed and slowly he kneeled down, looking straight at her and she let the tears flow. “Hrefna, that woman who saved me today was a member of the Blades. Dragonslayers. From ancient times,” he said and she let out a loud sniff in response. “I was trapped in a falmer nest, Hrefna. I… I don’t want to stay here.”

“But you’re my only friend!” she cried and he gave her a look of sympathy. “If you leave… I have no one!”

“Hrefna,” Sondas said from behind her but she shook her head.

“Derkeethus is my best friend!” she yelled, her sobbing starting to get louder. “He taught me how to swim! He taught me how to catch a fish! He told me stories! No one else will! No one else likes me!”

“Hrefna,” Derkeethus said and she jumped at him, wrapping her arms tight around his neck.

“Please don’t leave!” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave again!”

He slowly reached up, his scaled hand touching her head and he looked to Sondas who let out a sigh and slowly he left, motioning her mother and Annekke to follow as they had come up from the mine. Hrefna sobbed against his shoulder, clinging to him tight as he patted her back.

“Hrefna?” he said and she sniffed loudly, still unable to contain her sobs. “Do you remember the story of the wolf and the bear?”

“N-No,” she said against him and he sighed.

“The wolf and the bear were best friend when they were young,” he began. “They met each other in the forest and played and played until they had to go home. Neither their families would have ever allowed such a thing but the wolf and the bear were too young to understand why.”

She slowed her crying, still clutching him tight.

“Then one day they were separated. Both families went to other ends of Nirn. The bear went south into the jungles while the wolf was taken north to the sea. Both learned how to fight. They learned how to harm. And they learned who their enemies were.”

She stopped sobbing, gripping him tighter but she said nothing and he continued.

“Then one day, a full grown wolf and bear were out hunting. And by chance they came across the same deer in a large field. And they both went after it. When either realized there was someone else after their prey they attacked, ripping at each other.”

She bit her lip. “Did they die?”

“No,” he said softly. “For when they backed off, both with the intent to kill, they realized who the other was. And for a moment, they both didn’t move. This was their old friend.”

Her lip quivered. “Then what?”

He smiled softly. “They embraced. For after all these years and all they knew, they were still friends,” he said. “And that’s what we will always be, Hrefna. No matter how long it will be since we will see each other, we will still be friends. That is something that will never change.”

The tears started again. “But you’re leaving.”

“I am. But I am not leaving our friendship,” he said. “We will always be friends.”

“But how?” she asked and she pulled away, her cheeks still stained with tears. “We’ll be apart!”

He sighed. “Did that stop the wolf and the bear?”

She had to think and slowly she shook her head and he smiled at her before he paused and reached up, fiddling with his hair. He pulled a silver loop from his horn, opening her hand to place it on her palm and she frowned.

“What’s this?”

“My token of friendship,” he said. “So you will always remember we will be friends. No matter how far away we are.”

“Like the wolf and the bear,” she said and he nodded.

“Like the wolf and the bear.”

She still cried. She cried when he packed up his tent and when he said goodbye to Sondas, her mother, and Annekke. She cried when she hugged him for the last time, his own eyes seeming to well up before he was gone and she was alone.

Sondas came up to her after and he sat down beside her. She was playing with the ring he gave her, her fingers running over it.

“Hey,” he said but she didn’t respond. “I’ve got something for you.”

She finally looked up. “…What?” she said in a soft voice and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small fish carved from bone and he held it for her to take. She gently did,

“Derkeethus carved it when he first came here,” he said. “I think you should have it.”

She flushed a bit. “Thanks,” she said and she turned the little carved fish over. It had swirling designs on it for the scales and a surprised eye.

“You’ll see him again, Hrefna,” Sondas said. “I promise.”

She looked to him. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

She sniffed and slowly she put the fish and ring in her pocket before she moved to hugging Sondas who stiffened before awkwardly comforting her.

“Thanks,” she said as she looked out to the waterfall. “I think you’ll see him too.”

“Let’s hope,” he said.

 

 

 

V.

 

Too many Springs had passed for her to count, each one bringing her more work and when she had finally gotten the mine expanded properly, old Sondas nodding at her work from where he stood with his cane she finally let her workers rest. After all, they did a good job.

Her house stood beside the once-raging falls, the water now down to almost a steady creek due to the beaver dams. Once she had been able to clear them away but being the only one who could swim in a town full of miners left her doing the work herself which she couldn’t afford.

She threw herself onto her bed, her shoes being kicked off and she let out a weary sigh as she looked to the ceiling. She wondered if she could still fit a pane of glass above it so she could see out when shouting alerted her.

“Hrefna! Come quick!” one of her workers called and she shot up. Her boots were shoved on quick and she went running out the door, tugging a cloak on.

“What is it?!” she said and her workers were all standing looking to the falls. They pointed at it.

“Look!”

She turned to stare with them, the sunset not giving much light but it took her less than a moment to realize what was happening. Even with the low sun she could see why they were staring. Water was beginning to burst high above the falls, a loud cracking noise sounding as more water began to flow.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is that?” she asked. “Did one of those beaver dams break?”

“What could have broke it?” one of her workers asked and she shrugged. There was another loud crack, more water beginning to flow and soon it was reaching the bottom of the falls, the once steady water starting to lap at the shore. Another crack sounded, a huge log fell from above and a torrent of water soon sprang forth, muddy and dark making her step back.

“Watch out!” she yelled and all her workers had to get back as the falls came loose. Boulders broke, trees snapped, and the inevitable rush of water came down like she hadn’t seen since she was a child. It hit the bottom of the falls sending a wave of water up and her eyes went to the pillars her house sat on, thankful she had listened to Sondas to put them in.

Some of the workers cheered at the new flow of water, others commented on the mess but only one asked what they were all thinking.

“How did the falls get loose?”

She frowned. Had it been a dragon? No, dragons didn’t attack lowly beaver dams. She crossed her arms, trying to think when one of her workers jumped back.

“Something’s in the water!”

They drew their pickaxes and she turned, still in mid-thought when she saw a familiar pair of horns.

“No,” she said as they shone in the water. “It can’t be.”

“Foreman! Get back!” one of them said, moving to protect her but she stopped him.

“Put down your axes!”

“B-But!”

“Now!” she shouted and they did. She moved, approaching the water, the level now rising to engulf some of the grass and plants and she stood waiting as the figure drew near.

“Derkeethus,” she said before he even raised his head. Her mouth began to quiver a bit out of disbelief and emotion. “You’re back.”

He raised himself up, his body covered in the same blue armor the female Argonian that took him away had, a dragon etched on the chest and he gave her a toothy grin which looked the same.

“Here I thought you may have forgotten me,” he said. “It’s been years.”

She let out a giggle she hadn’t expressed since she was a teen. “Yes, it has.” She pulled at the string of the necklace around her neck to show him his ring and he smiled wide when he saw it. “You said no matter what we still would be friends.”

He gave her a nod. “And we still are.”

She abandoned her sense of dignity, running in the water to hug him and he hugged her back.

“Are you going to stay?” she asked. “From now on?”

“I am,” he said. “I’m back.”

She didn’t care who saw her cry. She hugged her friend tight, his laugh still as sweet as it was before and his smile just as bright.

“Welcome back, Derkeethus,” she said and his hand came to pat her head.

“Thank you, Hrefna.”

\--


	42. Wicked Game (Legate Fasendil Noncon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: I know this is so terrible to ask but I totally want one of the Thalmor Agents or Mages taking a very unwilling Fasendil. Whether its in revenge or to torture him or whatever, j-just give me the poor Legate bending to the one thing he hates more than anything.
> 
> Hmm, seems I forgot to add this one in.

Fasendil stood on the road watching the leaves on the trees around him fall to the earth and he sighed, content. His afternoon patrol yielded nothing of concern, no Stormcloak patrols or bandits looking to prey on travellers and he was now doing one last walk before he would head back. It was days like this he enjoyed as they rarely seemed to come. Every manner of trouble was in the Rift, from common horse thieves to bears with a taste for flesh so when none crossed his path it felt good. As if his patrols was working.

He breathed in the air, watching as a rabbit poked its head out from a burrow, cautious before it went in and he smiled, beginning to walk again. He shifted his sword, his eyes setting forward and he walked in silence, only a few birds calling to each other through the trees breaking it.

It was not far from the trail he would take towards his camp where he met them. A patrol of Thalmor. It made him stop and his body become stiff. If he could, he would cut them down as there was nothing more abhorrent in the province as a group of Thalmor. Thankfully this group didn’t have anyone in tow behind them but he knew they were looking.

The leader, a tall mage noticed him and the bastard slowed down giving him a smile. He said nothing.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Legate of the Rift,” the mage smirked and Fasendil pursed his lips, his jaw tight. He felt his sword at his side, quiet as they approached and he gave a half bow; just enough to make them think he meant it but not enough to disgrace himself. He couldn’t stand the bastards. “How are you….? Falandil?”

“Fasendil,” he corrected, his words sharp. “Legate Fasendil.”

“Ah, yes,” the Agent apologized. “My mistake. Legate Fasendil. How are you?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to talk and he made it apparent. It was rude but there was no point in trying to feign pleasantries. He knew the Thalmor and they knew men and mer in return. If he tried to play them they would only find a way to screw him and he didn’t want to give them anything. 

He sighed. “Excuse me, I need to get back to my men.”

“You know… we’ve heard about you,” the Agent commented making him look up. “About how you dislike us so much. About where you’ve been stationed with the empire. Your time in Sentinel.”

He narrowed his eyes, his hand reaching to touch the pommel of his sword. “So what?”

“We know about your parents,” the Agent shrugged, slowly walking around him and Fasendil stiffened, his hand going to grip the handle now, silent as he watched him. “Such nice mer, aren’t they? They’re… just outside of Cyrodiil aren’t they?”

“Are you threatening me?” Fasendil finally spat, his voice shaking. The Agent shrugged but he was smiling.

“Nothing of the sort. I’m just talking. You’re the one interpreting this wrong,” he said defensively but he was smiling like a fox who had stolen a chicken. “But… these rumors of you asking to be in Skyrim to watch us… how true are they?”

He said nothing, glaring at the mer. He would not fall into their trap, he knew their ways. The Agent sighed at his silence, stopping to cross his arms, reaching up to rub his nose. “Dear me, Legate, not talking now? Maybe we should put in an order to re-station you. I hear Winterhold is lovely this time of year. Or how about sending you to the Isles? I know a few of our kin who want to meet you.”

He pulled out his sword, pointing it at the mage and the two soldiers behind him unsheathed their weapons making him tense. “Leave, mer. And I won’t kill you where you stand.”

“Now you’re threatening me?” the Agent said, his eyes lighting up as he looked to him. “That’s a big mistake, Fasendil…”

“Leave!” he shouted, not putting up with this any longer and the Agent moved, his hands crackling with electricity and Fasendil dodged it, rushing to the side so he faced all three. One of the soldiers ran forward, his sword a bright sparkling green indicating its make but he met his swing, kicking the mer back. He may have had a superior weapon but he was inexperienced. He swung at him, cutting his armor and a bolt of electricity hit him causing him to stagger back.

The Agent had his eyes on him. “Boys,” he called. “Stay out of this. He’s mine.”

Fasendil smirked. “Fine with me. They can watch me cut off your head.”

“We’ll see,” the Agent smiled. “But I have a feeling I’ll be the one teaching you a lesson.”

He snorted and went forward, slashing at the Agent who dodged back, keeping out of his range. He was doing it deliberately as his magic wasn’t as effective in a short range position and Fasendil kept on his feet as he could only attack in said range. It was more of a dance they had to play, one keeping up with the other but he had the stamina to do it, his heavy armor not keeping him from it. The Agent didn’t seem pleased with it and it made him smile. He would show the bastard no mercy when he struck him down.

Their dance took them off the road, his strikes not hitting as fast as he wanted, the Agent more precise in his aim until he was hit with a large bolt of lightning knocking him to his feet. The metal on his armor was his downfall and he sat, shaking, as the current ran through him. It gave his opponent enough time to come and knock him back and his sword was taken and tossed away, the straps on his armor being pulled and Fasendil fought, his fingers shaking as he did.

He was punched in the side of the head knocking stars into his vision and he stopped fighting as his only means of defense was stripped from him, the Agent smiling as he tossed his gear behind him. He moved, looming over him and Fasendil did try to get away but his hair was grabbed, his body being forced to do as the Thalmor wanted. He found himself being dragged up the small hill away from the road, struggling as he did.

As soon as they were well enough away, the Agent let go of him letting him grab at his throbbing skull, feeling where his hairs were pulled and he turned to see the damned mer undoing his robes, his trousers being pulled down which made him stop. Before he could react he was grabbed and forced forward, made to be flush with him, the Agent’s cock nearly hitting his cheek.

He shook, his eyes on it. He did not expect this. “Suck, Legate.”

He set his jaw tight, refusing. He would not do such a fucking disgusting thing. Not to anyone, especially a Thalmor and the Agent’s nails began digging into his skull making him wince. He wouldn’t sleep ever again if he gave in to this willingly. He looked away, adamant of his refusal and he was punched, hard. It made him cry out and the cock went thrusting into his mouth, the texture making him gag.

He tried pulling away, the soft cock abhorrent against his lips but he was held tight, forced to take it and he shook, shutting his eyes. The damn bastard would pay for this, mark his words. He tried not to move as the cock in his mouth started to twitch. It was becoming hard and he started thrashing again, trying to get away.

The Agent relented only so he could stroke himself off, keeping Fasendil’s still in front of him. “What’s the matter, Fasendil? I thought an Altmer like you was used to sucking cock. Especially the Empire’s.”

He hissed at him, not taking the bait. The semi-hard cock hit his lips and he flinched, not wanting to take that back in his mouth but the Agent didn’t try again. Instead he held him close, using his hand to start stroking himself off and Fasendil was made to sit beside him being subjected to it. It made him grit his teeth. This was disturbing, even for the Thalmor.

“Ah, here we go,” the Agent purred as he became fully erect, his length making Fasendil flush. “Don’t worry, you’ll soon feel this inside that ass of yours.”

“W-What?!” he choked, looking up at the damn mer. “Y-You can’t be serious.”

The Agent smiled, one that was cruel and cold and he began to fight again, trying everything to get away. His mouth? Fine. He could always rinse it out with water. His backside? No. There was no fix for that violation. He fought, swinging at the agent but his stomach was kicked causing him to double over and electricity shot down his back making him shout. His nerves were sent into overdrive, his legs shaking and his eyes wild and he was tossed onto all fours, his uniform being forced up.

He struggled to stop it, his mind like sloshing water in a bowl, his limbs not working and he felt his underwear get ripped off with a rough grip, the fabric being tossed beside him. He stared, confused when something touched his backside. It was cold and thick making him try and see but the electricity did a number on him. He could only struggle to regain his body back, whatever was being poured on him not a concern and he slowly regained function of his arms. He groaned when he did, his nerves tingling.

“Don’t tense,” the damned Agent said and he turned, ready to spit at him when something hit his backside. He stopped, not sure on what to think when the mer’s cock hit his entrance again and started pushing. He froze, clenching which got him a slap to his head and he spit in anger, turning but the damned Thalmor Agent decided to keep going, forcing his way in and Fasendil panted, twisting.

“S-Stop!” he begged, trying to clench and make him but he kept pushing, stretching his insides and he shook, sick to his stomach. He just kept pushing in, their impressive size now making him shake in regret that his race wasn’t normal and he finally felt his body hit his own indicating he was fully in. Fasendil had to pant, relieved it was over but the feeling was still driving him insane. He was fucking large and he wasn’t built to take it. It felt like his intestines were being flattened.

He whimpered which made the Agent chuckle. “It seems you’re built to be on the receiving end of the Thalmor, Legate,” he commented making him grit his teeth. “I should spread the word around.”

“F-Fuck you,” he spat and a hard, rough thrust made him cry out, falling onto his hands and knees, his chest heaving. Gods, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding internally. He got his hair ruffled in response.

“Be a good boy, Fasendil,” the Agent mocked. He said nothing in return as the damn cock sank back into him, fitting in fully again.

He stilled, his voice of protest catching in his throat and for a second he didn’t move, feeling the intrusion inside his body, how it throbbed and hurt before he heard the damn Agent behind him moan. It sent him into a rage, his legs kicked out to try and get away, his hands fighting and his efforts were punished with a bruising burn to his hips, the flame making him scream. He thrashed, clenching, his chest heaving and the Agent moaned again.

“You’re so tight, Legate.”

“Fuck you!” he shouted, struggling to get away despite the burn making his eyes water and he was shoved to the earth, spitting as his chin hit the leaves below. The damn Agent thrust in as hard as he could and Fasendil couldn’t help but shout in utter pain, coughing as his face was slammed against the earth once more.

“Yes, squirm more, Legate. It just makes this more enjoyable!” the Agent purred, pressing his face more against the leaves, beginning to ride him. Fasendil only grit his teeth and closed his eyes, not responding. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction over him and he thought to his training, focusing hard on anything but what was happening to him. The thrusting in his body made it difficult though.

His cock was grabbed and his eyes opened, frantic. He immediately went down, grabbing at the hand on him but the harsh squeeze made him clench and stop, choking a bit. “Now, now Fasendil. No reason you can’t enjoy this either.”

“Let go of me!” he spat, shaking as the damned Thalmor’s hand moved stroking him hard. “S-Stop it!”

“You’re getting hard so clearly your body doesn’t want me to stop,” he said and Fasendil twisted. He was right; he was getting hard, the damn hand on him knowing just how to stroke and he fought even harder, trying to get away but it was futile. A knife hit his throat and he stopped, his body tensing at the blade against his skin and the Agent chuckled. “May I remind you, you’re not in charge, I am…”

Fasendil said nothing, quiet and his hair was grabbed making him hiss. He was forced onto just his knees, his hands reaching behind to grab at the ones tearing his skull and he was pulled onto the Thalmor’s lap, the new position making him tense as the asshole behind him thrust up.

He shook; it felt like he was fucking his lower stomach.

He kissed his neck making him flinch and the blade pressed back against his neck making him freeze, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally. The damn Agent chuckled and started fucking him, his free hand reaching back down to grab his cock and stroke. He tried prying his hands away again but the knife pressed against his jaw, slightly cutting him making him stop. He had no choice but to relent.

It sickened him. His body was being relentlessly violated by the one thing he despised more than anything and he couldn’t do anything about it unless he wished to lose his head. He contemplated it but the thought of letting himself die by a Thalmor made him angry. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

But his inability to move, the knife on his throat, the hand stroking him was starting to get to him and he started to whine, his hips bucking and he found himself shamefully riding the Thalmor Agent, his teeth gritting as he did. He begged that his ancestors – that the gods – would forgive him and he choked as he started to lose it, thrusting into the hand jerking him off.

The Thalmor behind him angled and he drove up hitting something that made him cry out. It hurt, the mer’s cock large and deliberately moving to stretch him but whatever he was rubbing was making him lose it even more. His stomach was on fire, his hands shaking as pleasure started flooding his mind with every stroke and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to come, he didn’t want to let a damn Thalmor Agent get off knowing he broke him but his cock and his ass and his head swimming was making him become a bit animalistic. He groaned in all his shame. The Agent chuckled and thrust even harder.

He didn’t last long, his stomach tightening and he let out a strangled cry as he finally came, thrashing against the cock fucking him, his seed coating the Thalmor Agent’s hand. He groaned deep, a familiar feeling flooding him but his pleasure didn’t last long, his disgust and shame more apparent and he had to remain in his awkward position as the damned Thalmor continued to fuck him, his body shaking slightly from the aftermath.

His thrusts were brutal, his touch purposely rough and he yelped as his shoulder was bit by the other Altmer, his hand moving off his cock to reach down and stretch him as well and Fasendil shouted as he was abused by his kin. 

It seemed to get the other one off even more and he groaned against his ear making him shudder in disgust. He could hear it when he came as his thrusts sounded sloppier and wet, something dripping down from his body and Fasendil shut his eyes, trying hard not to think about it lest he wretch on himself.

The Agent finally pulled out and he let go of him, his knife withdrawing letting Fasendil fall forward onto his hands and knees, panting as he felt how stretched and dirty he was. He reached behind, rubbing his ass and the damned Agent snorted. “You look very well-fucked, Legate.”

“Fuck you,” he said again, not looking at him. The damned mer grabbed him by his hair, forcing him back making him hiss and he made him look up to him.

“What was that?” he pulled out his knife and Fasendil said nothing, his jaw tight. “You wish to repeat yourself?”

He continued to be silent and the grip on his head loosened making him relax a bit. But with his guard off the Thalmor took advantage of it and he slashed his cheek making him shout and yank away, grabbing his face.

“A reminder, Legate Fasendil,” he sneered. “To keep your mouth shut unless you want another one of us fucking your tight ass. And we will.”

“Just leave,” he growled back, the blood now dripping down his cheek and the Agent smiled down at him.

“Until next time then,” he smirked, straightening his robes before he left him, moving back to the road where the two soldiers stood. Fasendil didn’t move, listening to the sounds of their footsteps retreating, his mind muggy and his body aching before he tried to sit down. It hurt too much and he stopped, awkwardly remaining on his hands and knees for a minute until he finally got up.

He staggered, righting himself before going to grab his sword, tugging his armor on, his fingers shaking as he did up the straps. It took him some time to get off the hill, his backside hurting more than he thought it would and he started the long walk back to his camp, pausing only once to wretch in disgust. 

He blamed himself for what happened, for being so rusty that he didn’t cut off the damn Thalmor’s head but there was no use in dwelling on it. He would just have to recover and train. That was what was driving him on as he staggered back into the camp, ignoring his men looking at him. He needed to train, to get back to that level he used to be in his youth where he could cut down his own hateful kin and if needed, use his magic as well.

He stepped into his tent, pulling the flaps down as he did and he went to his chest, digging out a few healing potions to drink, his body hurting, his cheek still bleeding. There was a slight knock on the wooden pole and the animal ski flap was moved as the Quartermaster looked in.

“Legate? Everything alright?” he asked and Fasendil sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling off the cork of one of the potions. “Everything’s fine.” The Quartermaster didn’t move and he looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing but…” he hesitated. “You look like you fought a cave bear.”

He pursed his lips. “I didn’t,” he muttered. “Animals aren’t as cruel and disgusting as men.”

The Quartermaster frowned, giving him a look of sympathy as if he knew but he said no more and left, leaving him to be with his potions and stained pride. He drank down another bottle before he took off his armor and struggled to lay on his bed. He kept his sword at his side, not trusting his flimsy tent and he looked up at the ceiling, exhausted. He shook, almost flying into a fit over what happened but he stilled himself and began blocking it from his mind. He needed to move forward, not dwell on the past.

Tomorrow, he would begin to train and make sure he was ready the next time a Thalmor patrol dared walk in the Rift. He didn’t care if they were their supposed allies, he deserved his revenge.


	43. You Will Wait (Ancano/Mirabelle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hefty collection of NPC Pairings, all written for the Skyrim Kink Meme. All feature NPC pairings as the front with minimal inclusion of Original Characters/Dragonborns. Each will range from tame, general fics to hardcore explicit sex between certain pairings. Warnings will be listed in each Chapter.
> 
> Note: Each chapter is a different fanfiction with pairing. Authors notes at the beginning will list which prompts were used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKM Prompt:
> 
> The DB (or NPC or OC, whatever you want!) isn't comfortable with having sex yet or is on a chasity routine or whatever but she won't have pentrative sex. Meaning her love interest has to come up with a way to fool around with her without entering her. So frottage, intercrucal sex, mutual masturbation, sixty-nines, random fomdles, etc. As a means for them to get off. 
> 
>  
> 
> And, we end with Ancano/Mirabelle. My stupid OTP in so many things. So, that was the chunk that I did. I really do believe in NPC pairings, especially since they can be super fun when you start dicking around with characters. In my case, it's always fun because ha ha ha boy do I torture people.
> 
> Anyways, the Additional Tags: Frottage, Dubcon probably, And a Hell of a Lot of Domination from Ancano.

“Ancano,” she said in a low voice, her eyes darting out through the archway to once again make sure no one was around. “I’m just not comfortable yet. You’re… unbearably large.”

The mage furrowed his brows but said nothing, his body still looming over her and his hand moved from where it had stopped on her stomach back up to her breasts, squeezing her left one to make her breath hitch. He tilted her chin up, kissing her rather harshly before he stopped and pushed her so her back nearly hit the wall. She let out a soft gasp at the action.

“So what am I to do then, Mirabelle Ervine?” he growled her name making her flush. “Sit here and wait for your body to accommodate me?”

Her cheek twitched at his words. “Give me time, Ancano. That’s what I’m asking.”

“How much time? You know the Embassy can call me back at any given notice,” he pointed out but she didn’t relent. She wasn’t ready and despite his attempt to manipulate her she wasn’t falling for it.

“Give me time. Or else your hand will be the only thing on your cock from now on,” she snapped back and he pursed his lips but didn’t pursue his argument. It made her relax and she reached to rub him through his robes making him tense, his sharp intake of breath music to her ears as she did and she moved up onto the tips of her toes.

He was still too tall but her gentle coaxing made him lean down and she kissed him, timid at first, before his tongue was in her mouth and she was moaning against him. He grabbed her hand, moving it against him and his other slinked around her waist, cupping her backside for a moment as his fingers went down. She let out a louder moan and he broke their kiss, nipping her jaw.

“So then, what do you want?” he asked, his voice making her toes curl. “To get each other off using only our hands?”

She found herself blushing at the thought. “Y-Yes,” she said. “Yes, that will do.”

“Fine,” he let go of her and grabbed her robes, hauling them up around her waist making her flush. She looked out the archway, adrenaline pumping through her and he pushed her against the wall more, his body blocking her from the view outside. He reached behind her, his fingers moving over her undergarments and he went down searching until he felt her, the tips dragging over her sex making her pant.

“A-Ancano!” she begged, palming the bulge in his robes and he began sliding his fingers over her, rubbing in a circular motion before he switched to pulling her small loincloth down and touching her directly. She buried herself against him, her own fingers moving over the head of his cock before he growled.

“Pull my robes up, woman!” he hissed and she flushed but did as he asked. He was hot against her hands, almost pulsing in need, and she didn’t waste time as she began stroking him, pumping his shaft which made him curl over her. His fingers moved inside making her clench and hiss but he didn’t stop and they fell into an awkward and fast rhythm where she could feel herself almost start to drip as he fingered her. He was leaking himself as she went on.

The more he pressed into her the sloppier she got and she was struggling to get him off as her orgasm began to climb, her mind working towards it making her knees weak and her throat dry. He grabbed her ass with his free hand, kneading it before he spread her making her whimper as his fingers became slicker with her fluids and she let go of him to grab his waist, tensing as she could feel herself getting off, his fingers driving her mad.

He pulled away making her nearly sob. “Ancano!”

He shoved her against the wall for a moment, kissing her roughly making her head spin before she was turned and her cheek met the cold stone. He spread her, his cock moving between her legs and she went stiff. “D-Don’t enter me!”

“I’m not!” he spat and he forced her legs together, his cock between them and he began to thrust as she gripped the wall. His movements were desperate and his cock was rubbing her directly making her begin to moan but he held a hand over her mouth.

It didn’t take her long to come against him, the friction and heat against her clit more than she could bear and she arched when she did, her mind bursting in her skull in absolute pleasure and her back hitting his body as she let out a muffled moan. He held her to him, hand still over her mouth and he came not long after, his seed hitting the stone wall before them, his breath against her ear and a groan escaping him making her shiver.

They remained still for a moment before he let her go, his hand slapping her backside and she stiffened and flush deeply before she pulled her underwear back up, forcing her robes down. He merely adjusted his robes and stepped back, barely looking as if he had done anything though his ears were a bit red. She bit her lip, flushing a bit more and he sighed before moving to kiss her. It was rather gentle, for them, and she nipped at his bottom lip before parting.

“I suppose I should get back to work,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But I hope the next time you will be ready for me.”

She swallowed and set her shoulders back, glaring at him as she usually did, her dignity flooding her body again. “Don’t try and manipulate me, Ancano. Like I said, you can wait or become more acquainted with your hand.”

“Duly noted,” he said before he left and she remained in her place for a moment, waiting for the right time to go when she found herself looking over her shoulder. His come was dripping down the wall and she flushed and fetched a cloth, wiping it up before tossing it into a dresser. No evidence meant no proof. With that she went about her day as if nothing had happened.

\--


End file.
